


The Rising Phoenix

by jazwriter



Series: Animagus Stories [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, F/F, First time romance, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:25:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazwriter/pseuds/jazwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story picks up directly after the final defeat of Voldemort. While helping with Hogwarts repairs, Hermione realizes that her feelings for a certain Headmistress run much deeper than she'd ever imagined. Non-Epilogue compliant. FEMSLASH HG/MM Originally posted elsewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: I have disregarded parts of the Epilogue from the seventh Harry Potter book/movie—specifically that Hermione and Ron became a couple. This story runs twelve chapters. 
> 
> Betas are awesome!!! Please spare a moment or three to give silent thanks and praise to some wonderful individuals— akasarahsmom (GinStan), dhamphir, shesgottaread, and quiethearted for their support and kind words while I pulled out my hair and worried about writing in a new fandom (yes, this was my first Harry Potter story!). Let me know what you think of it if you are so inclined.
> 
> Disclaimers: I was going to write a really technical, legal version here about how I am not earning any money off of this story and am merely offering it for entertainment value, protected by the fair use doctrine (in a much more impressive format, of course); forget that—you all know. Plus, I’m a real piss-ant, so if you are the owner of the characters, books, movies—whatever—and want to sue me, go ahead and try. Bring it on. I have a law degree, and I’m not afraid to use it. 
> 
> Oh yeah—I do not own Harry Potter, any of the characters associated with the books, movies, audiotapes, video games, theme parks, knick-knacks, assorted sundry, or wands (except for the one I made in my backyard with a dead branch—it doesn’t work)

Nearly asleep, Hermione allowed her thoughts to wander as she closed her eyes to the surrounding shadows. It had been a hard day, a hard week, a hard year—certainly her body, mind, and spirit felt well-abused. But they had done it. They had defeated Voldemort. Her best friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, were alive. And her favorite, most revered professor, Minerva McGonagall, was safe, somewhere within this very castle, hopefully getting some sleep.

Hermione had been invited to join Ron and Harry at the Weasley’s home, but she had wanted to remain here in what had been her home for so many years. She had missed this place over the last year while they had searched for Horcruxes and hidden from Voldemort and his followers.

Today they had returned to Hogwarts to confront Voldemort and vanquish him once and for all. Many had died, and at one point she had believed that Harry had been one of the casualties. He was alive, though, and although it would take much time and effort, what had been destroyed would be repaired, such as this castle.

Ron had not understood why Hermione wished to remain. She sighed. She was tired of explaining her reasoning for her every action. He always gave into his emotions, such as when he had abandoned her and Harry in the woods. Although it could be argued that he showed strength of character by returning, she could not quite trust that he wouldn’t always remain a slave to his emotions, emotions that often blinded him from the truth. And so she remained behind to help rebuild Hogwarts, to regain some perspective, and to heal. She was drawn here, and the promise of a doomed relationship did nothing to entice her away.

The kiss she had shared with Ron—that was just another example of feelings overwhelming pure good sense. She loved Ron. She loved Harry, too. Her love for Harry felt comfortable and warm—like a favorite sweater worn on a cold winter's day. How Ron could have become jealous of Harry and her relationship with him was beyond Hermione’s understanding. They had never felt that way about each other, and any git could see that Harry was in love with Ron’s sister, Ginny.

Her feelings for Ron were also strong, and their chemistry was undeniable. The genuineness of her feelings for him, though, would not be enough to sustain a romantic relationship. They were too different. She wanted to learn more, to see more, to be more. She feared that she would lose that zest for life, that desire to grow and stretch, if she gave in to carnal desire. It would be foolhardy and ultimately unfulfilling. And when she finally gave herself to another, it would be to a person she could love for the remainder of her life. Perhaps she was old-fashioned, but she was not interested in a casual fling or passing fancy.

So no, she could not be with Ron in that way. He would not understand, probably not for a long time. She could only hope that he would allow them to remain friends. She wanted him to be happy and fulfilled, but she wanted to be happy and fulfilled, too. That would not happen if they entered into a relationship.

Hermione heard a slight noise near the edge of her bed and struggled to open her eyes. In the shadows she saw slight movement, and Hermione fought to remain still while her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Slowly the form edged closer. Hermione tilted her head, surprised to see Professor McGonagall’s animagus, a silver tabby cat with black markings, hop gracefully onto the bottom of her bed. Staring into a surprisingly penetrating stare, Hermione watched as the cat moved closer to her, not stopping until she reached her left hip.

Hermione was unsure what to do. She wondered whether McGonagall’s animagus harnessed the wisdom and capacity to understand her if she tried to talk to her unexpected visitor. Holding the cat’s gaze, and feeling utterly ridiculous all the while, Hermione moved her left arm to pat the animagus, only to find it swatted toward her chest. The cat hopped forward quickly and held the arm firmly between her two paws in a V position, her eyes trained on the inner forearm, bared as Hermione’s nightshirt sleeve slid toward her elbow.

“Oh,” Hermione yelped in surprise. She watched as the cat cocked her head and sniffed at the new scar her arm bore. A bolt of shame swiftly traveled through her, and she tried to pull her arm away to no avail. Flashes of when she, Harry, and Ron had been captured and brought to Malfoy Manor to be interrogated crossed her mind. Bellatrix Lestrange had taken special pleasure in torturing Hermione for information. As if the Cruciatus Curse levied against Hermione several times hadn’t been enough to satiate Bellatrix’s sadistic desire to cause pain, she had carved the word “Mudblood” into Hermione’s flesh—into the arm currently held with a steadfast grip between furry paws.

Feeling a scratchy tongue lapping at her scars, Hermione’s eyes widened with shock. The cat made mewling noises reflecting her distress as she rubbed her head against Hermione’s forearm and continued to lick the damaged area. Although the area had healed and no longer caused physical pain, Bellatrix’ magic had prevented the slightly-raised scars from being removed. Hermione had taken to wearing long-sleeved tops to hide the damning word or using a glamour spell to cover it, but she always knew it was there, taunting her.

Watching the animagus continue to kiss her arm, providing Hermione some form of comfort and the knowledge that the cat—Professor McGonagall—was upset with Hermione’s harrowing experiences, Hermione moved her other arm to stroke the cat gently. Loud purring erupted, making her smile. The cat’s emerald eyes flicked toward Hermione’s chocolate ones before she moved forward to butt her head against Hermione’s chest. The cat plopped down on top of Hermione’s left arm, effectively pinning it against her sternum, and stretched out her legs. Pulling her elongated body forward, the cat focused her green eyes, just inches from Hermione’s face, onto brown ones for several moments as she continued to purr. Delicately, slowly, the animagus leaned forward and touched her mouth against Hermione’s lips daintily before beginning to lick with small strokes and purring even louder. Hermione’s eyebrows flew toward her hairline as she trembled with emotion.

The animal’s actions could be easily interpreted: sorrow and affection. Hermione could well understand why Professor McGonagall would be unwilling or unable to express such feelings in the light of day, but in her animagus form, she was free to do so in an acceptable way, a way that would not threaten propriety.

Tears escaped Hermione’s eyes as she continued to stroke the cat’s fur lovingly. She didn’t want to cry. She had thought that she had dealt with her feelings for that night—that night when she had been tortured. Yet, she could not seem to help herself. She closed her eyes as the tears flowed faster and faster down her face. She stifled a sob as the cat licked the salty proof of her anguish away. Hermione held the cat close to her, allowing herself to sob into the soft fur as the cat continued her attempts to lick away the waterfall of tears while yowling her concern into the still night.

“It’s, it’s all right,” Hermione whispered into the cat’s ear. “I just, I haven’t really had the time to deal with everything, and you are so very comforting.” Hermione heard the purrs start up once more, as loud as a motor, and she smiled with a sigh. “Thank you for being here.” Opening her eyes, she stared into those emerald eyes once more and smiled slightly. “Thank you, Minerva.” She received a head butt on her chin in response and chuckled. Closing her eyes once more she whispered, “Just stay until I fall asleep, please.” Hearing more purring, Hermione allowed exhaustion to lead her into sleep.

***

The next morning Hermione woke up with a headache. She surmised it was probably the by-product of her uncontrolled sobbing the night before. A sad smile graced her face as she remembered the solace she had felt while hugging Professor McGonagall—well, her animagus—until she had fallen asleep, exhausted.

Looking around the room, she was thankful that the Gryffindor dorms had not been damaged. It was a small blessing. Hermione planned to remain in the castle while renovations proceeded. Although she had not really discussed such plans with Professor McGonagall, she was certain that her offer to help would not be refused.

Professor Minerva McGonagall. Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. Was she the Headmistress now? Probably. What should Hermione call her?

And last night—she had no idea how to address those events or whether she even should. She would have to take her cues from her former Transfiguration teacher.

 _Former_. That was debatable, she supposed. Even though she had not finished her seventh year, the good Professor had offered Hermione the opportunity to take her N.E.W.T.s whenever she was ready. Even more astounding, she had offered to tutor Hermione so that she could prepare properly. Hermione looked forward to digging into academia again, to not having to fight for her life every day, and to spending more time with the older witch.

Hermione had noticed that Professor McGonagall had spoken to her differently when extending the offer, with a different tone of voice—not the “teacher voice” she had always associated with the brilliant witch. No, it had been more intimate, gentler, the intonations similar to how a friend would converse with another. Someone who cared for her. Respected her. Saw her. Hermione couldn’t quite put her finger on it, and she had to acknowledge that it might just be her overactive imagination or boundless hopes that were reconstructing their brief conversation.

She did not imagine their shared hug, though, once the battle had ended, nor how they had clutched at each other before others had caught up to them and the moment of solace had been broken. For a moment, Hermione had felt able to pause, to just take a deep breath, knowing she was safe. And missed.

Looking around her bedchamber, she noticed that the room had lightened as dawn swept through the castle. The other three beds were empty, and Hermione, after so many months sharing space with Ron and Harry, appreciated the luxury. On the bedside table sat a small bottle. Picking it up, she smiled at Professor McGonagall’s thoughtfulness. It was a potion to treat her headache. Hermione drank it and got up, keen to start her day.

It didn’t take long to shower and change, although Hermione would have loved to dawdle under the heavenly feel of hot water sluicing over her body. Perhaps at the end of the day she would indulge. It had been a long time since she had experienced something as simple as a long, hot shower. So long since she had felt able to walk around without constantly looking over her shoulder. She felt invigorated by the idea that she could finally move forward with her life and indulge in such simple pleasures. Even with the daunting task of repairing the castle looming over her, Hermione felt good.

Dressed in fitted jeans, a sky-blue Oxford shirt, and navy jumper, Hermione made her way to the Gryffindor common room and stopped short in surprise.

“Hermione. Did you get some sleep?” Harry asked as he rose from the couch and approached.

“Harry! I thought you would be at the Burrow with everyone else,” Hermione said.

“Well, not everyone was there, were they?” Harry rebutted with a small smile. “I left before they finished eating breakfast, but I suspect they will be joining us soon to help out.”

“Oh, Harry. You didn’t have to rush over. With all you’ve been through, you’ve certainly earned the right to take it easy,” Hermione said as she hugged Harry tightly.

“I could say the same to you, Hermione,” Harry said softly as they broke apart.

“No, I, this is where I need to be. I want to help rebuild. But you shouldn’t feel obligated. And the Weasleys…they are already dealing with so much. ”

“Hermione,” Harry said as he held her elbows and looked into her eyes earnestly. “You have always been there for me, no matter what. Let me be here for you. That’s what friends are for, right?” he cajoled while shaking her gently.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Harry,” Hermione said as she turned away.

“Oh come on, Hermione,” Harry chided gently. “It’s me you’re talking to. I know you have something on your mind. I can see it.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s a life or death problem,” she chuckled mirthlessly.

“Even better.” Hermione watched her friend draw near. “You can trust me.”

“Look. I’m just going to help with repairs and study for my N.E.W.T.s,” Hermione answered, her voice strained. She could not, would not share her disgrace, the branding she carried due to her heritage. Oh, he would commiserate, he would feel horrible, but this was something she needed to accept, and no amount of her friend’s outrage, righteous anger, or sorrow regarding her permanent reminder of her time at Malfoy Manor would change those events.

“Well, then, I’ll help with repairs, too. I’m sure McGonagall won’t mind.”

“Harry, don’t you think you should spend some time with Ginny?” Hermione said desperately. She was torn between accepting his help and running him off. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him here—she just hated the thought of him putting his life on hold again to help others. What kind of life was that? And she needed time to work through her emotions and to figure out what she wanted.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll stay at the Burrow at night and return here each day for the next couple of weeks to help with repairs,” Harry said.

Hermione stared at him. Clearly, he was not going to allow her to hide away and lick her wounds. Nodding, a smile broke across her face. “That sounds reasonable.”

“And you’ll return there with me each night,” he continued, effectively wiping the smile off her face.

Shaking her head slowly, Hermione said gravely, “No, Harry. That’s not a good idea. Ron, he believes that we have a future together, but we don’t—at least not the type he wants. We need time apart.”

“But you two kissed! I saw it. Hermione, what’s going on?” Harry asked.

“Yes, we shared a kiss, but it was only once. You’ve kissed others girls before Ginny, right?” She watched him nod. “Well, sometimes it’s just a moment in time, a gesture that means something then but can’t transfer over to more. It is the difference between kissing just anyone and kissing someone special.”

“I don’t understand. I thought you loved him,” he said as he pushed a hand through his hair.

“I know, and I do. But it’s not enough. I’d rather preserve our friendship than indulge in the excitement of a new relationship only to find us both regretting it later. Harry,” Hermione said as she rested a hand on his chest, “Ron and I have very different ideas about the future. We’d both be settling if we stubbornly insisted on being together.”

“But you love him,” Harry said again.

“Yes,” Hermione agreed patiently. “I also love you, Harry, but just as it would never work between us, it would never work with Ron.” She watched as several emotions crossed Harry’s face, morphing into acceptance.

“Okay, Hermione. Is there,” Harry hesitated for a moment before continuing, “is there someone else?”

Hermione blushed. “I, I don’t think so,” she muttered as her eyes skittered away.

“You don’t _think_ so?” Harry’s incredulous voice pulled Hermione’s eyes back to his face.

“Well, I didn’t think so, but I am beginning to wonder whether I have been hiding from my feelings,” she admitted as she sat down heavily on the couch.

“What feelings? Who is it?” Harry asked curiously, sitting next to her.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I’ve hardly admitted it to myself. I’m not ready to talk about it with anyone else, not even with my best mate.” Hermione nudged his shoulder with hers and smiled. “I hope you understand.”

“I do. When you're ready to talk, just remember you can tell me anything.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me,” Hermione whispered and leaned over to hug him. Sniffling, she jumped up. “Right. Enough of that then. Let’s go see about something to eat so we can start putting this place back together.” She would have to examine her feelings later when she was alone. For now, she would face the day knowing she could help heal the hurt Hogwarts had suffered, she was among friends, and she was safe.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione walked into the Great Hall and felt her eyes well up. It was in shambles. This room where she had taken meals for so many years, forged friendships, received life-changing news—it was mostly destroyed. She felt a comforting hand pat her back and looked over to Harry.

“I feel the same way, Hermione,” he muttered, his eyes dark with grief. She nodded and forced herself to walk toward the front of the hall where a group of about thirty individuals sat at tables with bowls of food and pitchers of drink splayed about them. Elves apparated and disapparated in and out of the room constantly, the ebb and flow of several conversations soothing Hermione’s frayed nerves.

Reaching the tables, Hermione took a seat as Harry sat across from her. Hermione smiled and nodded when several people wished them good morning. She reached forward to fill her plate with some toast and eggs, suddenly realizing that she was quite hungry. Unlike during the school year, professors, students, and volunteers all sat together. Memories of last night caused a frisson of energy to race down Hermione’s spine as her eyes swept the area, searching for Professor McGonagall. Her eyes found penetrating green ones focused on her. Hermione smiled automatically and nodded in greeting. She barely held back a gasp when she received a beautiful smile in return. They continued to gaze at each other until Harry’s voice intruded on the moment.

“What?” Hermione said in a daze, ripping her eyes away reluctantly. “Did you say something?” she asked.

“I said do you want some pumpkin juice?” Harry repeated patiently, holding up a full pitcher.

“Oh. Yes, please.” Hermione blushed, feeling caught out. It was just, there was a look in the Professor’s eyes that had captivated her. She couldn’t figure it out. It seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite remember ever seeing that emotion directed at her before—not from the normally composed older woman. Usually Professor McGonagall’s emotions were well-hidden behind a bland expression. Hermione had only seen her react emotionally a few times while she had attended Hogwarts, during times of extreme stress.

Whatever she had seen in Professor McGonagall’s eyes, she found it exhilarating and unsettling. Hermione wanted to understand what that look meant. She wanted to understand why her body felt wired and hot.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked as he placed a hand over hers. Startled, she pulled away. Seeing his frown, she smiled apologetically.

“Yes. Just a bit out of sorts, I suppose.” Hermione scooped up some eggs from her plate and shoved the fork into her mouth. After so many months struggling to find shelter and food, the breakfast tasted heavenly. She moaned her approval and shared a grin with Harry, who was also obviously enjoying the food. She did not hesitate to reload her plate, knowing they had a long day ahead of them and many more, judging by the state of the Great Hall, the Entrance Hall, the Grand Staircase and the Viaduct Courtyard. And that was just after a quick look. She knew the castle had suffered extensive damage.

Hearing conversations becoming louder, Hermione looked around just as Harry commented, “Looks like the Weasleys are here.”

Hermione watched Harry rise to greet them, taking a moment to hug Ginny and pat Ron on the shoulder. Hermione reluctantly rose and kissed Ron’s parents on their cheeks before turning to Ron, dread washing over her.

Ron leaned in for a kiss on the lips, a look of confusion covering his face as Hermione quickly dodged his obvious intent by turning her head. His kiss landed near her ear. She gave him a brief hug and stepped away.

“Wha—Hermione…” Ron huffed as he stepped forward. “Why didn’t you stay with us last night? And what was that? What’s going on?”

Anger and bewilderment were clearly conveyed in his voice, but Hermione did not want to have this conversation—not now, not here. “Let’s talk about this later, Ron,” Hermione said in a low voice.

“Why? Am I supposed to wait all day or until you feel the time is right to answer my questions? I have a right to know. Bloody hell, Hermione,” Ron’s said in a louder voice, “we nearly died yesterday! Fred did. Or did you forget? Are you hiding out here—is that it? Answer me!” He grabbed her bicep and pulled her forward, Hermione slamming into his body as she fought to keep her balance.

“Hey, mate. Calm down,” Harry said as he steadied Hermione and inserted himself between them, breaking Ron’s hold. “She doesn’t want to talk right now.” He lowered his voice and said evenly, “People are starting to stare, Ron. Stop making a scene.”

“What do I care?” Ron exploded. “What, am I ruining the image of the Golden Trio? Sod off, _mate_.” Ron reached in to grab at Hermione again, but she turned away and began to walk toward the entrance of the hall, wanting to place distance between them. Harry kept pace with her.

“Where do you think you’re going? Hey! I want an answer! Oh, I get it. All that bollocks about you two just being friends. But you’re more, aren’t you? Aren’t you?!” Ron yelled. Hermione and Harry both stopped walking.

Turning slowly, Hermione tried to control her emotions. Her body was shaking with rage. How dare he make a scene in front of all these people. How dare he accuse her of being with Harry, of going behind Ron’s back, of betraying him. How dare he act like an immature boy indulging in a tantrum.

“I would never lie to you. You have no right to make these demands. Where are your eyes, Ron? Harry is in love with your sister. You know this! He is my best friend. And I thought you were, too.” Hermione shook her head, disgusted.

“Best friend? I thought I was more. Hermione, I love you, and I don’t care who knows it.” He spread his hands out wide.

Everyone had stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped all motion while Ron forced the issue. “Don’t you love me?”

“Of course I do—”

“Then why are you sleeping here? Why aren’t you with me?”

Hearing the hurt in his voice, the aggravation, Hermione tried to rein in her anger, but she was mortified by this display. “Ron, get this straight. I will never sleep with you. I do not love you in that way. You are my friend, but that’s all it will ever be. I’m sorry, Ron. I really am.”

“Wha—. What are saying?” Ron said.

“We are not going to be together, Ron. Not in that way.” Hermione knew her face was stained red from embarrassment and anger. She was trying to be patient, trying to be kind, but he wasn’t making it easy.

“That’s rubbish. You kissed me!”

“Stop being a daft fool!” Hermione exploded as she strode toward him, hands balled into fists. “You just had to have this conversation now, didn’t you? Didn’t you?! You couldn’t wait. Well, here’s your answer.” She stopped in front of him. “The kiss happened. It was pleasant. But we could never make a relationship work. We are too different. I know it hurts to hear this, Ron, but it’s still the truth.” She stared at him, and her anger ebbed when she saw his defeated expression. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please,” she entreated. “Let’s discuss this later.”

He shook his head as he looked at the ground. “What’s there to talk about?” He looked up, his eyes devoid of emotion. “Great timing, Hermione. My brother dies, and you tell me you just want to be friends.”

“You did not just play the death card!” Hermione roared. “Come on! Do you really want me to be with you out of pity? Don’t you deserve better, Ron? Someone who wants to be by your side and who shares your interests?”

“I thought that was you!” Ron shouted.

“I’m sorry, but it’s not. I want to be your friend, and once you think about it, really think about it, you’ll realize this is for the best.” Hermione looked at Harry. “I have to go. I’ll catch up with you later.” She walked out of the hall, feeling the weight of countless eyes on her.

She felt humiliated. In front of all those people! In front of her former professors. In front of _her_. Angry tears stained her face as she left the castle and walked toward the Black Lake. She picked through strewn rocks and debris haphazardly, just wanting to get away. Finally, she came to a stop not far from the water’s edge and lowered herself onto a nearby boulder. Tears still rolled down her face as she replayed what had occurred in the hall.

It was all so unfair! If he had just waited to talk to her, they could have worked it out, she was sure. Instead he had pushed the issue, like he always did, and now she was unsure that their friendship was even salvageable. So immature! That was one of the main reasons it would never work. _It wouldn’t._ She knew that! So, why was she so upset? So angry? So hurt?

Feeling watched, Hermione looked around and saw a cat—silver with black markings. She wiped her face with her hands, keeping her palms over her eyes for a moment while she tried to find her equilibrium. Gentle arms wrapped around her and held her tightly. She felt something loosen within her and began to sob. Distantly she heard a soothing voice telling her it would be all right, that things would get better. She felt a hand cradling her head into a strong shoulder as the other hand drew small circles over her back. She burrowed into the swanlike neck and drew in great breath as she lowered her hands to rest on shapely hips, hidden under thick black robes.

Feeling infinitely better, Hermione breathed in the soothing scent of vanilla and something spicy—ginger?—before pulling back a bit to look into concerned emerald eyes. “I fear you will get the wrong idea about me, Professor. I am not normally so weepy,” Hermione said softly.

A gentle smile and warm eyes soothed Hermione’s frazzled nerves. “No, I suppose not. You have always presented yourself as a courageous, strong woman. And these tears,” Hermione felt long fingers touching her cheek gently, “have not changed my opinion of you in any negative way. In fact, if anything, they have raised my opinion of you, something I did not believe possible since I hold you in the greatest esteem. They show that you are a woman of great passion, great depth of feeling. You have suffered greatly, Hermione. It is only natural for you to cry now that the danger has passed.”

Overwhelmed by these startling words, Hermione was unsure how to reply. “Thank you, Professor,” she said shyly.

“Minerva,” she corrected softly. “I think you’ve earned the right. You are no longer my student, and I could never think of you as anything less than an equal. What you have done, how you helped Harry to defeat Voldemort—you are a formidable woman, Hermione. I am honored to have played some small part in guiding you with your studies. The N.E.W.T.s, I am sure, will prove to be merely a formality, as your life experiences have taught you more than this school ever could. Some hard lessons, too, unfortunately.”

“Yes. Some hard lessons, too,” Hermione agreed with a sigh. “I am sorry for running out like that. I just needed a few moments.” Sniffling, she smiled when Minerva handed her a handkerchief. It had a green monogram of a double M on one corner. “Thank you.” Self-consciously, she turned her head and blew her nose.

“Sometimes a strategic retreat is wise. You needed time to regroup, and Mr. Weasley needed time to compose himself as well.” Minerva’s clasped her long fingers on her lap as she talked.

Hermione grimaced at the scene that had played out in front of everyone. “I am sorry for that display.”

“You have no reason to apologize, Hermione.” A look of disapproval firmly on her face. “He should not have forced the subject. Don’t worry. No one thinks less of you. In fact, Molly delivered a few choice words to him after your departure.” Her lips formed a grim line. “Mr. Potter had been ready to follow you, but I asked to talk to you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. It seems you have a natural ability for comforting me.” Hermione chuckled, feeling self-conscious. She gazed across the lake, afraid to look at Minerva. She realized just how closely they were sitting, how much she enjoyed this woman’s company, how strong those arms actually felt, and how green those all-seeing eyes were.

“Hermione,” Minerva whispered as two long fingers under Hermione’s chin turned her face back toward the older woman. Their eyes locked for long moments, and Hermione again saw that indescribable emotion swimming in penetrating eyes. “I am so sorry for all that you have suffered. I wish I could have protected you, helped you. I was worried about you.” Her words trailed off as she continued to stare at Hermione.

Hermione could see the obvious struggle Minerva was experiencing. It made her heart beat faster, as did the feeling of those fingers still resting under her chin, warm breath fanning over her face, and eyes stained with emotion.

“I missed you,” Hermione said suddenly. “Most of the time we were either fighting for our lives, trying to figure out where to go, or hiding. And I thought about you constantly. I resented being away, and I was ashamed for feeling that way when there was so much at stake.”

“Now you listen to me, Hermione Granger.” Hermione was pinned by the stern gaze and serious words. “Don’t ever feel ashamed for wishing you were somewhere safe and loved, for wanting to be with people who care about your well-being. You were on your own in precarious circumstances for a long time. It is natural to not want to be in that situation. You missed Hogwarts and the simplicity of learning and excelling. And yet even with all that, you succeeded in not only surviving but in completing your quest. You kept going even when it seemed you were facing insurmountable odds. And you were tortured…”

Hermione was shocked by the sorrow that crossed Minerva’s face, the crack in her voice as she trailed off. “It’s all right,” Hermione tried.

“It’s not all right! It is anything but all right! Who did this to you?” Minerva demanded as she moved her hands to hold Hermione’s left forearm gently, pulling up the shirt sleeve slowly. Hermione watched as tears flooded the older witch’s eyes, tracking down her face.

“Bellatrix. We were caught and brought to Malfoy Manor. She separated me from the rest and tortured me, trying to gain information. I made up a false story, but before she had finished with me she had used the Cruciatus curse on me several times and then, that. Shortly after she finished, I lost consciousness.” Hermione shook her head as her tears began again. “Who could ever love me with _that_ on my arm?” She swiped at her tears angrily. “No one knows. Only you,” she whispered brokenly. She was pulled into another hug, and this time they both wept.

“Oh, Hermione,” Minerva murmured. “You are loved. No scar will ever deter a true heart from its course.” She chuckled mirthlessly. “If I’d known, I would have killed her myself.”

Hermione swallowed her shock and held the older witch tightly. As their weeping abated, Hermione pulled back slightly to look into watery eyes. “And I didn’t miss Hogwarts, Minerva. I missed you.” Hermione smiled slightly at the shocked expression she saw. She took a deep breath and expelled it loudly. “Now, I don’t think I have cried so much in years. I truly hope this will not become a permanent part of our every interaction,” Hermione joked, trying to instill some levity to lighten the moment. She gently wiped away some stray tears on the elder witch’s face. “We should get back.”

“Yes,” Minerva agreed. Hermione watched as Professor McGonagall took over, no trace of Minerva left. Well, not quite. She could still see the woman behind the mask, but not many would be able to. They rose as one, and Hermione watched as the older woman straightened her robes. “Shall we?” Minerva asked, gesturing in front of her. With a slight smile, Hermione began walking.

They strolled in silence for several moments, each lost in their own thoughts. “Would you care to come by for tea tonight? We can review what N.E.W.T.s you plan to take and create an outline of the material you will need to know,” Minerva said.

Looking over, Hermione saw eyes softening as theirs connected. She nodded. “I’d love to.” Internally she winced at how throaty her response had sounded and hoped that the older woman had not noticed.

“Good. Will eight o’clock suit you?”

“Yes.” Hermione stared straight ahead, afraid she had already revealed too much. She just felt so raw. Her emotions were close to the surface, and she didn’t know what to make of all these strong feelings she was experiencing for the woman walking next to her.

A hand on her shoulder stopped her. “I look forward to it,” Minerva said in a low voice. She squeezed Hermione’s shoulder and walked into the castle as Hermione watched. Smiling, Hermione shook her head.

She couldn’t deny that she felt better. Much better.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The next few weeks passed quickly as Hermione concentrated on repairing the castle by day and studying for the N.E.W.T. exams each evening. Harry had stayed true to his word, helping with the repairs for two weeks before taking time to spend with Ginny. While he was at Hogwarts they fell into the easy rhythm they had established while on the run. Often they worked together while Ron sulked in other areas of the castle. It wasn’t until ten days in that Ron had finally joined them. Hermione had tried to make him feel comfortable around her, but that had only seemed to infuriate him. Finally, Harry had called him a prat and demanded he stop moping around.

They had made significant progress with restoring the Great Hall and the Grand Staircase. Over the last week she had worked by Minerva’s side. Ron, feeling rather uncomfortable around them, had stopped coming around each morning to help. Hermione felt a bit guilty, but she would not give up any opportunity she had to spend time with Minerva. She had found herself seeking out Minerva more and more, finding the woman fascinating. They met a few times a week on the pretext of discussing the N.E.W.T.s, but their talks often spread over to more personal topics rather quickly during each visit. And when they did not talk, they sat and read. Or stared serenely into the fireplace as the flames swayed. Or caught up on paperwork.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Hermione looked around the courtyard. This was where the final showdown had occurred. It was where Hagrid had held Harry in his arms, believing he was dead. Hermione had heard a horrible shout, one filled with anguish and disbelief—Minerva’s response when Voldermort had proclaimed that Harry was dead. Soon after Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had voiced their own screams as Mr. Weasley had been forced to hold Ginny back from charging at the Dark Lord.

Hermione had never felt so helpless and enraged as during those fifteen minutes when she, like everyone else present, had believed her best friend to be dead. She felt a shudder work through her as her eyes surveyed the area again. The arches needed to be repaired, the broken walls and uneven ground a testament to the final battle. Rubble littered the area, rocks of all sizes, dirt, mortar, bricks…the place was an absolute mess. This would be no easy task.

A warm hand on her upper arm alerted her to Minerva’s presence. “Are you well, Hermione?” she asked, her concern evidenced by the Scottish burr infused in her question. Her accent tended to strengthen when intense emotions were attached. No doubt she was also remembering that decisive day.

“Yes,” she said, not really sure but unwilling to worry Minerva. Their relationship was deepening, becoming something she craved, depended on. She did not want to burden Minerva with these memories. Certainly, Minerva had lived through enough nightmares. Those experiences, though, were best shared at night with the lull of the roaring fire, a glass of mulled wine, and the unspoken promise of acceptance. Not here, not in the light of day where one could not hide from the fear, the shame, the uncertainty, the pain. No, not here.

“Why don’t I believe you, Hermione?” Minerva said softly.

Hermione could feel the stare and finally turned her head to meet those piercing eyes directly. “Sometimes the memories crowd in. It takes a moment to remind myself that Harry is alive and well, as are others I love.” Her voice faded as she gazed into darkening eyes. She felt the weight of those eyes as they sliced through every wall of self preservation as if they were made of gossamer. She didn’t really understand why she wanted to hide, but she did.

It should be no surprise to Minerva that she was so important to Hermione, had become even more important over the last few weeks, and would continue to be essential to Hermione’s happiness. And yet the look of astonishment and joy told a different story. Hermione placed her hand over the one still on her arm and squeezed. It seemed to break the tension, and they smiled at each other.

“Tea tonight?” Minerva invited, her voice light.

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” Hermione answered seriously. Searching eyes jumped between her brown eyes seeking the truth of her words, but Hermione withstood the scrutiny, reminding herself sternly that she had nothing to hide and no reason to fear these feelings, this yearning to spend time with Minerva.

“Nor I,” Minerva whispered. Breaking their intense stare, Minerva turned her head toward the courtyard. “Shall we begin?” she asked and walked toward the northern portion of the yard. With a grin, Hermione joined her.

***

They had taken to spending time in Minerva’s private rooms instead of her office on nights they met for tea. Hermione preferred to be surrounded by Minerva’s belongings, her personal effects, her aura. She felt honored that Minerva trusted her enough as to reveal herself in this way.

“I’d like you to consider working toward your animagus mastery,” Minerva said after an hour of comfortable silence. Hermione had been reviewing some material on Potions, and it took a moment for the import of Minerva’s words to sink in. They were well into June, yet the nights became chilly enough that drinking tea while seated in front of a blazing fire in Minerva’s living room was a welcome treat for Hermione.

Thankfully, Minerva did not seem to mind having Hermione stake out a spot on her sofa and remain there for hours. If anything, she encouraged it. Over time they had discussed all of Hermione’s experiences while on the run as well as the events that had occurred at Hogwarts.

Tonight they had discussed the Ministry’s actions and to what extent Voldemort had infiltrated the highest levels of government. Hermione had been horrified with how far-reaching his influence had spread, and she was once again glad that Minerva had been at Hogwarts to protect the next generation of witches and wizards.

“You, are you offering to be my mentor?” she asked, astounded by the offer. As far as she knew, Minerva had not mentored anyone since before the first war with Voldemort over twenty years ago.

“Yes. It will be hard work, but I have no reason to believe that you cannot attain animagus status. You are brilliant and dedicated. If you are willing, I promise to teach you all that I know.”

Humbled by the offer, Hermione smiled broadly. “Thank you, Minerva. I will prove to you that your belief in me is not misplaced.”

“Very well. We will begin training immediately after you finish sitting for your N.E.W.T. exams.”

“Do you have a timeline in mind?” Hermione asked, her attention fully on Minerva, who sat with her legs folded beneath her, leaning against the far arm of the sofa with a book spread over her thighs.

“Yes. You seem to have your studies well in hand. Tell me, did you study some of the seventh year materials while you were in hiding?”

Hermione flushed, a reaction she did not quite understand since she should not feel embarrassed for wanting to improve her skills. It might have been the deciding factor, the reason why she had survived. Why they all had. “Yes. I brought all my seventh year textbooks, but I was unable to practice as much as I had desired.” She looked up at Minerva, relaxing as she saw pride and approval shining through bright green eyes.

“You continuously surprise me, Hermione.” Minerva smiled. “It explains quite a bit,” she murmured. “With your permission, I will arrange for you to take your exams three weeks before the new school year is to begin. I am closing Hogwarts for the last two weeks of the summer break, but the Hogwarts’ professors have already volunteered to offer the N.E.W.T. exams to you beforehand, and I will administer the Transfiguration exam to you myself.”

A smile broke out over Hermione’s face as she took in the words. The confidence Minerva displayed for Hermione’s skills instilled her with such a strong feeling of belief in her abilities that she immediately felt her fears recede. She could do this. She would do this.

“The only subjects I have not had the opportunity to prepare for are Potions and Arithmancy. Of course, I could always use more practice with Charms and Transfiguration. Oh, and I wouldn’t mind reviewing Herbology and Ancient Runes—”

“Hermione,” Minerva cut in, chuckling at Hermione as she became agitated. She placed a placating hand on Hermione’s leg. “Stop. Tomorrow night we will start working on Potions. The rest, you have been studying diligently. You are one of the most gifted witches I have ever known. Have faith in your abilities.”

Nodding, Hermione tried to still her mind. She stared at the fire as she thought of all the N.E.W.T.s she intended to take. “How many exams may I take each day?”

Minerva’s startled expression morphed into a pensive look. “What subjects were you thinking about taking? As I recall you have the opportunity to take ten N.E.W.T.s—however, I do not believe anyone has attempted to take so many, and I do not believe it necessary for you to do so.”

“I disagree. I want to take them all. If I take two a day, I will be finished by the end of the week before the school is closed,” Hermione countered.

“But why, Hermione? What is driving you?” Minerva asked, her voice clearly conveying her confusion and concern.

“I just, I need to, Minerva. I need to prove to myself that I can do this. And who knows where my path will lead. This will ensure that I have options.”

“You do have options, my dear. Everyone knows of your cunning, bravery, and intelligence. You do not need to prove anything to anyone. You have shown through your actions time and again your mastery of all these subjects.”

“But I do have to prove myself, Minerva. Can’t you see that? I am a mudblood—Muggle-born, viewed as inferior. I must prove that I am worthy, that I belong in the wizarding community, that your faith in me is not misplaced…” Hermione looked away as tears forms under her eyelids. She cursed, not wanting to break down yet again in front of Minerva. What was it about this woman that brought such intense emotions to the surface?

“Is that what this is about?” Minerva’s pained voice compelled Hermione to look toward the older witch. “You think you are not worthy?” Her features tightened as eyebrows pulled forward, making Hermione shrink back into the sofa. Minerva’s eyes darkened with anger, flashing with emotion. “How can you think that? Do you think so little of my judgment, my ability to determine a person’s abilities, that I would mistakenly believe you to be gifted?”

“What? I, no—”

“No! Do you think I would offer to become your mentor, to teach you all I know about becoming an animagus if you did not have the aptitude and drive to succeed? Would I waste my time and skill on you, only to have you fail?” Minerva raged.

“I hadn’t thought about it like that. I thought—”

“No. You did not think about it. And your insecurities are baseless and unworthy of who you truly are. The notion that you need to prove anything to me—it is completely absurd. If you must take all ten N.E.W.T.s to prove something to yourself, so be it. But do not do it to gain some illusionary level of approval from me or anyone else. It is not necessary or appreciated.” Minerva got up and paced to the window, looking out into the still night.

Not knowing why Minerva was so upset, Hermione was unsure what to do.”I am sorry, Minerva,” Hermione said meekly. “I did not mean to insult you. I trust your judgment implicitly. I guess I am just afraid that you have placed too much faith in me. I don’t want to ever become complacent. I have so much more to learn, and I want to keep learning. I hope to always feel the compulsion to keep learning. And you are one of the most brilliant witches in history. I find it hard to accept that you find value in spending time with me. I have cherished every moment we have shared...” Hermione stared at Minerva’s back, noting the rounded shoulders, shoulders that shook minutely. Was that the effect of anger or was she fighting tears?

Rising from the sofa, Hermione approached Minerva and hesitantly placed a hand on one of those shaking shoulders. “Please forgive me, Minerva,” Hermione pleaded softly. In the next moment sure arms pulled her into a strong embrace as Minerva’s tears splashed onto Hermione’s neck.

“If I could have prevented what Bellatrix did to you, I would have. I hope you know that,” Minerva said, anger and despair running through her words. “I should have done more to protect you. I could have taken additional steps to ensure your safety—”

“Shhh, Minerva,” Hermione said as she held on tightly, fighting her own tears. “You had a school to protect, thousands of students within it, and a corrupt governing body to fight. You are only one woman—one of the most powerful without question, but still, you could not do more than you did. I did not expect your help, and you should not second-guess your past actions.”

“Or inaction,” she said bitterly.

“Minerva,” Hermione whispered. Pulling back a bit, she leaned her forehead against Minerva’s and closed her eyes. “I am trying to work through my feelings for what occurred over the last year. It is not easy.” Hermione swallowed reflexively, making herself say the next words. “I felt violated, worthless, and weak. It will take time for me to move past those feelings, as irrational as they are.”

Hermione opened her eyes and stared into cloudy eyes so close to hers before continuing. “Your faith in me has helped me more than you know. I have come to rely on it, on you, to such an extent that it scares me, but I know I can trust you. These exams are a way for me to reaffirm my worth. It is something I must do so I can move forward. Do you understand?”

Their breath mingled as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Elegant fingers combed through Hermione’s hair before pulling her head into the crook of Minerva’s neck, the other arm sliding around her waist in a fierce hug. “I understand, Hermione, and I will help you.”

Feeling a weight fall off her shoulders, Hermione returned the hug and whispered, “Thank you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Ash coated the area over blackened, splintered wood and pulverized stone, debris making passage through the Clock Tower entrance virtually impossible. The massive pendulum hung at a slant, and the portcullis was partially lowered. Hermione stood viewing the damage, the voices of Filius Flitwick and Pomona Sprout floating through the air as they discussed possible strategies for repairing this section of the castle.

It was rare for Hermione to be working without Minerva nearby. She had noticed that Minerva had seemed preoccupied as of late. Of course, Hermione understood that she was not aware of everything happening in the elder witch’s life, but they had grown close enough that she was privy to most events.

Hermione just hoped that Minerva was not upset with her because of what had happened last night. They had dueled in preparation for the practical portion of the Defence Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. The exams were in merely two weeks, and Hermione had realized that she needed to practice—she hadn’t cast a spell since the last battle.

At first, they had traded the standard attack and defense spells.

_Hermione extended her wand and uttered a stun spell, which Minerva easily blocked with a shield spell. Minerva then cast a knockback jinx which pushed Hermione into the wall. She pulled herself off the floor quickly, upset at how easily Minerva had gotten through her defenses._

_“Langlock,” Hermione shouted as she lunged forward, but Minerva was ready. She blocked the jinx and countered with an impediment spell. Hermione barely blocked it._ Calm down _, she instructed herself._

_“Come now, Hermione,” Minerva said. “Surely you can do better. Trying to silence me—is that all you have to throw at me? How did you survive while on the run? Or did Harry and Ron protect you?” Minerva goaded._

_Incensed, Hermione yelled, “Flipendo Tria. Rictusempra!” as she thought Levicorpus while flicking her wand in an upward motion. Stopping suddenly, Hermione blinked several times. She’d done it. She’d bested Minerva McGonagall, witch extraordinaire, one of the most respected, powerful witches ever known to the wizarding community._

_Staring at the upside-down witch, Hermione distractedly wondered how she kept her robes and hair from falling toward the ground. Blushing at the stray thought, she focused on the word Liberacorpus and quickly cast a cushioning spell as Minerva was released from the spell and fell toward the ground._

_She watched mutely as Minerva arose and walked toward her, a strange look in her eye. “That was unexpected, Hermione,” she said softly. “A nonverbal spell—very good. Shall we go again? You will want to think out of the box, use what is available. You have at your disposal your knowledge of transfiguration, charms, and the Defence Against the Dark Arts.”_

_“Yes. I do need the practice. Thank you, Professor,” Hermione answered._

_“Professor, now?” Minerva looked closely at Hermione, waiting for an answer._

_“I am finding it hard to fight a friend, Minerva. I do not wish to hurt you,” Hermione muttered, looking at the ground between them._

_“Very well, but I can take care of myself. You will not catch me unaware again. And for now, I am not your friend—I am your opponent, someone attempting to find your weak points and to exploit them.”_

_Hermione watched Minerva return to her previous spot on the other side of the Transfiguration classroom. Taking a deep breath, Hermione raised her wand. This time the fight was fast and furious, streams of magic clashing in the middle of the room, a cacophony of sound and a myriad of colors erupting violently as both yelled out incantations to attack, block, and transform._

_Suddenly, Minerva was hidden by the unwelcome sight of Bellatrix, laughing evilly before sneering the word Mudblood. Frozen by the boggart as it came closer, Hermione felt fear slide through her. “No!” she shouted, her mind raging. “Crucio!”_

_A scream of agony pulled Hermione away from her overwhelming feelings of hatred for Bellatrix, and she looked past the boggart to find Minerva crumbled on the ground, her back arched in pain. Hermione lowered her wand, horrified by what she had done._

_Raising her wand once more she yelled, “Riddikulus,” and banished the now bald, toothless Bellatrix to a side closet before running across the room._

_Dropping next to Minerva, Hermione didn’t know what to do. “Minerva, my God! I am so sorry!” Tears streamed down her face. “Are you all right? Should I get Poppy?” She was afraid to touch the woman, afraid to cause more pain._

_“No, dear, just give me a moment,” Minerva gasped. She took some deep breaths before gingerly sitting up. Hermione tentatively placed an arm around Minerva’s lower back to provide support. They sat that way for a few minutes, and Hermione leaned her head against Minerva’s shoulder listening to her breathing as it normalized. The sound was soothing, and Hermione was able to regulate her own breathing, her tears lessening as she focused on Minerva’s familiar scent and comforting heartbeats._

_“I should have anticipated how your boggart would manifest itself,” Minerva murmured, her voice hoarse. “I do apologize, Hermione.”_

_Bewildered, Hermione pulled back to stare. “Why are you apologizing? I hit you with a Cruciatus curse! I am sorry! I hurt you, the one person I would never wish to harm.”_

_“It was as much my fault as yours.” Minerva squeezed Hermione’s hand and held it fast as she stood up, forcing Hermione with her. “And this is not the first time I have experienced that particular curse.” Minerva grimaced. “It never gets easier.” She released Hermione’s hand to retrieve her wand, walking slowly._

_"Still, it's an Unforgivable Curse. I should be sent to Azkaban for it," Hermione said, her mind running a mile a minute as the gravitas of her actions sank in. Tears streamed down her face as her body trembled._

_"Hermione," a soft lilt intruded upon her frantic thoughts. "We have certain leniencies in place at Hogwarts so that the students can learn how to use magic. I will not be reporting you, my dear. Trust me when I say that you are not the first to let her anger and fear get the better of her. Now, I think we have practiced enough. I will see you tomorrow.”_

But tomorrow was today, and Minerva was nowhere to be found. Shaking her head to rid herself of these thoughts, Hermione walked over to the others to find out what their course of action would be. She could not let her mind wander while restoring the castle—it took too much concentration to complete the necessary complex spells. It was probably just as well. Her thoughts of Minerva were jumbled at best, interweaved with feelings she could neither understand nor fight. A few hours not dedicated to that enigmatic woman would probably be a good idea. Smiling automatically as her name was called, Hermione focused on the tasks at hand and pushed all thoughts of Minerva away.

***

Not hearing from Minerva all day, Hermione took a shower and changed before joining everyone in the Great Hall for dinner. Again, Minerva was nowhere to be found. Just as she wondered who she could ask about Minerva’s whereabouts, a large barn owl swept through the hall and landed in front of her. It extended a leg, and Hermione unraveled the binding to remove the letter. Thanking the owl with a strip of fish, Hermione quickly spotted Minerva’s seal and ripped open the correspondence.

_Hermione,_

_I apologize for not contacting you sooner. I was unavoidably detained by some Hogwarts business and will be unable to meet tonight. I expect to return some time tomorrow._

_We can reconvene tomorrow night in my rooms at our regular time if that suits you. I believe we have earned a night off from N.E.W.T. preparations. Don’t you?_

_Minerva_

Hermione smiled, relieved. So Minerva was not avoiding her. That was welcome news. She had feared that Minerva was upset with her after their duel. Her smile faltered. She had wanted to cause pain during those moments, wanted to make Bellatrix suffer as she had. But her anger hadn’t made sense. She knew Bellatrix was dead, knew she had been dueling with Minerva.

She needed to do a better job of not allowing her emotions to get the better of her. Where was her vaunted superior intellect and cool head when she had needed it? She would not make the same mistake again.

Realizing she had the night free, Hermione decided a visit to the Burrow was long overdue. She felt a pang of guilt, admitting to herself that she had been avoiding Ron, the Weasleys, and even Harry for weeks. After the funerals of Fred and all those others who had died during the last battle against Voldemort, Hermione had taken solace by focusing on her studies, the repairs on Hogwarts, and her deepening friendship with Minerva. Still, she should have attended to her established friendships, too.

Walking to Hogsmeade, Hermione wondered where the time had gone. The days had flowed together, and now it was the end of July. In two weeks she would take her exams, and then she would have to find a place to stay. It didn’t make sense to remain in the castle after N.E.W.T.s. Repairs were nearly complete, and the new school year would soon begin. Certainly, Hermione could not remain in the Gryffindor dormitory. She had no idea what to do next. Perhaps she could stay at the Burrow while she looked for a place to stay. She also had some money in Gringotts to sustain her while she completed her initial training to become an animagus. But then what?

Hermione wondered what animal she would become. She knew she could not choose her form: it chose her according to her innate gifts, attributes, and personal characteristics. She hoped she would not become a rat or a beetle. A cat or dog would be acceptable. Even a bird of some sort, although if that were to occur, she would rather be a raptor.

Reaching the disapparation point, Hermione visualized the Burrow and felt a pull as magic tingled through her. She walked toward the front door, gratified to see lights streaming through the window and to hear several voices chatting. Smiling, she knocked on the door.

“Hermione, my dear. How lovely to see you! Please come in,” Molly Weasley greeted her. “How have you been?”

“I am fine.” She kissed Molly on the cheek and followed her into the kitchen where Harry, Ginny, Arthur, George, and Ron sat conversing. “Hi, everyone,” she greeted the group. The welcomes she received warmed her heart. Several hugs and shoulder pats later, she sat at the table drinking butterbeer as they caught up on each other’s lives.

“Wait a minute! How many N.E.W.T.s are you taking?” Ron squawked.

Stalling for time, Hermione drank more of her butterbeer before admitting the amount.

“That’s bonkers, ’Mione! Why put yourself through that?” Ron said.

“It’s just something I have to do,” Hermione said quietly.

“Ron, leave her alone,” Harry directed. “She certainly has the ability to do it.”

“Yeah, you’re just jealous that you can’t hold a candle to her. She is one of the smartest witches alive,” Ginny added, smile cheekily as Ron’s face heated up, the flush covering his face and ears.

“Right, then. Good luck, Hermione,” Harry said, patting her hand.

“What are you going to do once you finish exams? Have you thought about work?” George asked. “We could use some help at the store, you know. Until you figure out what you’ll be doing, of course.”

“Yeah, I’ll be working there, Hermione. It will be fun,” Ron said with a grin.

“Thank you, George. I might just take you up on your offer if I can’t find anything else,” Hermione said.

“Well, there’s nothing better than being a last resort,” George joked.

“Hermione, you can get any type of job you desire. I’m going to be an Auror at the Ministry. You can too,” Harry said. “All you have to do is put out the word, and you’ll be swimming in job offers.”

“Well, I don’t want to take on a job that will be too demanding. Not just yet. I am going to be training to become an animagus, you see…” Hermione stopped talking when she saw the shocked looks. “What?”

“Who’s training you? Oh, let me guess—McGonagall,” Ron said sarcastically.

“And what if she has offered to train me? What of it?” Hermione said, becoming upset by his attitude.

“Nothing’s wrong with it,” Harry quickly placated her. “It’s just very unusual for her to train anyone, and I have heard that the discipline is very arduous.”

“Arduous?” Ron parroted.

“That means hard, you dolt,” Ginny said while slapping her brother on the side of the head.

“I know!” Ron responded while rubbing at the stinging area.

“Do you think I can’t do it?” Hermione challenged Ron.

“No. I think you can. I just don’t get why you are bothering,” Ron answered.

“Well, I want to, so I am. I just need to figure out how to support myself during that time.” Hermione say with finality before finishing her beer. “So, George,” Hermione said. “Tell me what’s going on at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.”

Conversation became lively and lighthearted as they talked about the store’s newest gadgets, some which Fred had designed. Eventually, they began to speculate on what Ginny’s last year at Hogwarts would be like. She admitted that she could hardly imagine school without so many of her friends present. And none of her brothers would be there, either. Still, she was looking forward to moving forward and finishing her schooling.

During a lull in the conversation, Hermione stepped outside for some fresh air, only to be joined by Harry a few moments later.

“So, how are you really, Hermione?” Harry asked.

“I am good, really good. This summer has helped me get back on track. I’ve been able to delve into the books, which I love.” She smirked as Harry agreed heartily.

“You seem happier. And you’ve been spending time with McGonagall?” he asked.

‘Yes. She has been very kind to me. I am extremely grateful,” Hermione sighed, staring at the emerging stars.

“You like her,” Harry stated.

“Of course I like her. What’s not to like? She is brilliant and compassionate. I have always respected her. There’s a reason why I was known as the teacher’s pet, at least when it came to her,” Hermione stated.

“No. I mean you really like her. You are attracted to her. You care for her. I can see it every time you talk about her. And I saw you two interacting at Hogwarts. There’s something between you two.”

Hermione slowly turned to face her friend. “Harry, you can’t tell anyone! I am only just coming to terms with these feelings. I know she can never return them, and I need to find a way to get past them before I ruin our friendship.”

“Especially once you start training. You won’t be able to hide your feelings then,” Harry said.

“Well, I’ve hidden them so far. Besides, it would never even enter her mind,” Hermione admitted bitterly.

“Don’t be so sure, Hermione,” Harry said. “Any dolt can see she cares about you, and these feelings do not evolve without some type of encouragement, even if she is not providing it consciously.”

“I don’t dare hope,” Hermione admitted.

They sat in companionable silence, both lost in thought. “Do you love her?” Harry asked quietly.

“I do. Very much. I hadn’t quite realized what was happening. I just knew I needed to be near her whenever possible. And now I cannot imagine my life without her being a large part of it. It terrifies me because I know this can only end badly.” Hermione gratefully received Harry’s hug.

“It will work out,” he whispered into her ear. “It will work out.”


	5. Chapter 5

With the knowledge of her feelings for Minerva in the forefront, she felt nervous about spending time with the older witch. _Am I a Gryffindor or not?_ She asked herself with irritation as she slipped on a red jumper and tied back her hair. This was manageable. It had to be. She would not waste any time she was able to share with the compelling witch.

After uttering the password “unicorn,” Hermione entered Minerva’s private rooms. Her face lit up when she saw Minerva walking toward her. The older witch wore off-white linen slacks and a fitted, button-down black linen shirt. The casual look emphasized her long legs, svelte figure, and cleavage. Hermione swallowed convulsively. The woman was beautiful. Hermione loved seeing Minerva dressed casually, with her hair plaited in a braid or hung in a loose bun. Tonight she was wearing it in a braid. What Hermione really wanted to do was run her fingers through that mass of raven locks, to loosen it from its confines and spread it out in wild disarray.

Blinking away such dangerous thoughts, she said, “Good evening, Minerva.” Her eyebrows flew up as Minerva pulled her into a tight hug.

“And to you, Hermione,” Minerva answered, her Scottish brogue caressing the syllables of her name, causing Hermione to shiver. Minerva wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led Hermione to the sofa. “Filius told me how helpful you have been with the Clock Tower. I am not surprised in the least. Your help has been invaluable these last few months.”

“I’m glad. I have enjoyed my time here. It has helped me to adapt after all that occurred.” Hermione sat down and looked at Minerva. “You have helped me immeasurably. Thank you for your friendship, Minerva,” she finished shyly.

“My dear, I am the one who is grateful,” Minerva said as she took hold of Hermione’s hand, interlacing their fingers. Hermione watched as Minerva stared at their clasped hands, seemingly lost in thought. “Filius also mentioned that you left the grounds last night.”

“Yes. I went to the Burrow for a visit. It was nice to catch up with everyone,” Hermione said.

“And Ronald? How did he treat you?”

“As if we never had that public spat. I dare say he is past it. It is a relief, although it makes me wonder whether he did harbor true feelings for me or if he just supposed we would be together, as so many assumed, and was swept away with the idea.” Nodding at Minerva’s raised eyebrows and lifted teapot, she watched as steaming tea swirled into her cup. “Thank you,” she murmured as she added cream and sugar.

“Does that bother you?” Minerva asked.

“His not loving me after all?” Hermione looked into her cup. “Perhaps. It’s just that my pride is a bit dented. Am I that easily forgettable? If he truly loved me, wouldn’t it take him longer to get over those feelings?” she shook her head. “It’s not even as if I want him to feel that way, though. What I told him was true—I will never return such feelings, and I want only to be his friend.”

“You feel rejected even though you are the one who spurned his affections.” Minerva raised a hand when Hermione began to object. “It’s perfectly natural, Hermione. If it makes you feel any better, I do not believe his moving on is quite as easy as it appears. However, he is, in all probability, keeping in mind the possible repercussions if he does not respect your wishes. I suspect he will do whatever is necessary to protect your friendship.”

Hermione did not know how to respond, so she sat silently. She felt young and inexperienced. Really, what did she know about romance? About feelings? She could hardly sort out her own. Although she had dated a bit over the last few years before taking off with Harry and Ron, she had never maintained a steady relationship. She did not know what it felt like to love another, to hold and be held as their passions played out. She had never engaged in experimenting, learning another’s body. Lack of interest and time had prevented her. And yet here she found herself thinking of the woman in front of her in that fashion while they discussed a romance gone wrong. She was perplexed.

“I cannot help my feelings. He deserves to be with a person who can return his affections freely. And I deserve to be with someone I love,” Hermione whispered. She felt her hand squeezed and realized they were still holding hands. It lifted her spirits, and she grinned.

“You are a special woman. You deserve an equal, someone who can support you, stimulate you, and love you. Ronald is not your match, Hermione.”

Hermione allowed the words to flow over her, to soothe her. She wondered whether Minerva would ever believe herself to be Hermione’s match. She doubted it. Hermione suddenly understood Ron’s position. Hermione would never want to jeopardize her friendship with Minerva. If that meant controlling her feelings so that they could continue to spend time together, hiding the nature of her affection was a small price to pay.

“Where do you intend to go after you finish your exams?” Minerva asked as she withdrew her hand. Hermione grieved the loss of physical contact but maintained a calm demeanor.

“I am trying to determine that, actually. I know that I must leave Hogwarts.” She gazed at Minerva. “Thank you for allowing me to stay here over the summer.”

“You are welcome. It was the least I could do while you helped me to repair Hogwarts.” Hermione watched emerald eyes darken and her mind blanked out. Minerva really had the most incredible eyes. They were attractive, alluring. She could stare into them forever. “Hermione?” she heard as a hand squeezed her shoulder.

Mortified, Hermione blushed. “I’m sorry, Minerva. I just got lost in thought.” Looking up she saw a knowing smirk grace the elegant woman’s face and blushed harder. _Great._

“Well, I have a proposition for you,” Minerva said.

Hermione fought hard to not react to the provocative words, uttered in a teasing voice. She cursed her inability to hide her feelings better. Obviously, Minerva had noticed and was making light of it.

“Which is?” Hermione asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound as breathless as she felt.

“Two propositions, actually. One is business, and the other pleasure. Which would you like to hear first?”

“Um.” This was unprecedented. Minerva was openly flirting with her. “Business,” Hermione chose, trying hard to not allow her eyes to travel over the body that was so close to her. Minerva’s top was unbuttoned just enough to reveal the curve of breasts usually hidden by thick robes. Hermione had a hard time controlling her libidinous urges.

“I am in need of a new Transfiguration professor. I fully expect you to receive top marks in your transfiguration N.E.W.T. exam, and I am offering you the position. Will you consider it, Hermione? It will make the animagus training easier to schedule, and I have grown rather fond of your presence.”

“Me?” Hermione squeaked, a hand to her heart. This was incredible. She would see Minerva every day, have a place to live, and be able to continue studying, learning, honing her skills. “Yes. Of course. I would be honored to teach here. Won’t my age be a problem, though? I mean most know who I am and that I just finished schooling myself.”

Minerva nodded even as a radiant smile covered her visage at hearing Hermione’s acceptance. “You may have to deal with an adjustment period with your students, but I have no doubt that they will grow used to the situation. You have much to offer them, and you have proven time and again your leadership abilities. I was only a few years older than you when I began teaching here. So, welcome to Hogwarts, Hermione!”

Hermione accepted the hug joyfully, feeling happiness settle within her. “Thank you, Minerva. You have done so much for me. I fear I can never repay you.”

Hermione felt a soft kiss land on her cheek as Minerva pulled back to look into her eyes. “Those feelings are mutual. You have lightened my burdens, helped me to recover after so much was taken away, so much destroyed. If you weren’t here,” Minerva shook her head, “I do not believe I would be ready to lead everyone into the next school year.”

“Oh, Minerva, you mustn’t think that! You could never be beaten. Never. You would have found a way to lead on, as you always have.” Hermione brushed the back of her fingers against a defined cheek. “However, I appreciate your words. I will always be here to support you in any way you will allow.” They shared another smile.

“You are free to move into your new rooms at any time. There is no need for you to remain in the girls’ dormitory. Tomorrow I will provide you with your teaching schedule and syllabi from past years so you can start planning your curriculum. Do not worry about it until after you have completed the N.E.W.T.s, however. You have time.”

Nodding, Hermione’s mind began to race at the possibilities. She struggled to pay attention as Minerva began to speak once more.

“Well, then. Now that we have discussed my business proposition, it is time to reveal my more personal request. I intend to spend time at my family manor while Hogwarts is closed. Would you care to accompany me?”

Hermione had to stop herself from flinging herself into Minerva’s arms—a place where she felt more and more comfortable. Instead she smiled broadly as she nodded repeatedly. “I would love to accompany you.” She took a deep breath to calm herself. Her voice took on a teasing quality as she continued. “I suspect many would be jealous of me right about now if they knew I had been invited to see it.” Minerva’s chuckle reverberated through Hermione, and she felt her heart rate pick up. Minerva’s laugh was positively lovely, a sound she wanted to hear as often as possible.

“I believe you may be correct. Now how in the world did that happen?” Minerva asked while tapping at her chin, a look of intense concentration. She looked up, a twinkle in her eye. “Perhaps you enchanted me with an Imperius curse. Hmmm. Yes. That may be a distinct possibility.”

Hermione playfully slapped Minerva’s arm. “I don’t think so!” They laughed, knowing how silly the conversation was.

“Hmm. Perhaps not. But it is true that not many have set foot on my family land.”

“Well then, I am honored,” Hermione said softly. She smiled, realizing she was doing that entirely too often but unable to stop. Luckily, it seemed Minerva suffered from the same malady.

***

Sighing in relief, Hermione plopped onto her bed and closed her eyes. She was done. She had just finished her last N.E.W.T. Results would be given to her tomorrow for the last four exams, but so far she had earned all O’s, and she expected to receive the same mark for the rest. Even better, on Sunday she would be traveling to McGonagall Manor.

She smiled goofily. Minerva had delivered a port-key to her at the beginning of the week, telling her that she would be leaving for her home on Saturday in order to “spruce things up” before Hermione arrived. It was a vast understatement to say that Hermione was excited. She was extremely curious, too. She wanted to see where Minerva had grown up and where she lived when not at Hogwarts. It was another layer of Minerva’s history being revealed to her, and Hermione was keen to learn more about the witch who had so effortlessly captured her heart just by being herself.

She practically vibrated with anticipation. She knew Minerva did not normally invite people to her family home. Although she did not believe Minerva harbored any romantic feelings for her, she clearly cared for Hermione and wanted to spend time with her. She had said as much on several occasions in different ways over the summer. It was enough. It had to be enough.

Harry had insinuated that Minerva must return her feelings if they were vacationing together, but Hermione did not want to assume anything. It would be mortifying if she revealed her feelings, only to find that Minerva cared for her simply as a friend. She would be no better than Ron. She shook her head, wondering at the irony. Yet, Harry was persistent, insisting that Hermione not give up hope. Sighing, Hermione turned on to her side and curled her knees up near her chest. As if she had a choice in the matter. Hope fluttered its little wings every time she saw the woman.

Now that the exams were out of the way, Hermione could concentrate on other forms of academia—becoming an animagus and instructing young minds. Both would be difficult but quite rewarding. Best of all, though, she would be able to continue seeing Minerva. Hermione was a bit nervous, not knowing whether Minerva would want to continue meeting for tea during the week, but even if their friendship was relegated to the background during the school year, at least she would still spend time with her while training and in her capacity as a Hogwarts professor.

Tired, Hermione closed her eyes. Tomorrow she would move into her new rooms. While preparing for her exams, she hadn’t had the energy or incentive to do so. But that was tomorrow. Dinner was not for a few hours, and she had stayed up late over the past week reviewing her notes and practicing whenever possible to prepare for her exams. She let her mind wander, not caring to edit her thoughts when they turned toward Minerva. Her smile, her laugh, her eyes—those eyes. They could see right through her, it seemed. She should probably feel mortified, for she doubted Minerva was oblivious to Hermione’s feelings. She couldn’t find it within her to be embarrassed, though. She would never force the issue, and Minerva seemed to take it in stride.

If anything, Minerva seemed to like the attention. Often their gazes would remain connected. Often they would touch hands, arms, shoulders. And it was not unusual for them to lean against each other while reading in Minerva’s living room. Each connection exhilarated Hermione, pushed her into a higher level of awareness. It made her ache for more even as she told herself to be happy with the bond they had formed.

Visualizing emerald eyes stained with emotion and a Scottish burr that purred her name, Hermione easily remembered the feeling of strong arms holding her securely. She groaned into her pillow, fighting her body’s response. She could not go down that road. It would make her too uncomfortable while with the bewitching woman. For that reason she never allowed herself to fantasize about kissing the woman, touching the woman more intimately. She simply could not afford to.

Feeling a delicate tongue scratch across her cheek, Hermione’s eyes flew open. She was greeted with sparkling green eyes and an inquisitive meow. Smiling, Hermione sat up. She noticed how dark the room was and said, “I must have fallen asleep after exams. Did I miss dinner?”

Watching the animagus transform into Minerva’s form, Hermione’s eyes widened. She performed the transition so fluidly. It was a wonder to behold. Minerva sat on the edge of Hermione’s bed, a mischievous look on her face. “You did. No one had seen you all afternoon, so I took it upon myself to track you down.”

“And here I am,” Hermione smiled.

“Yes. Here you are,” Minerva agreed, placing a hand on Hermione’s forearm and rubbing the inside of her wrist with her thumb. “Are you hungry?” she asked softly.

Hermione nodded mutely, overcome by the feelings Minerva’s touch was evoking. She watched the older witch’s smile become larger.

“I thought you might be. Come with me, please.” Minerva slid her hand down to capture Hermione’s hand and pulled her up from the bed slowly. They stood close to each other for a moment, eyes connected, before Minerva ran gentle fingers over Hermione’s cheek. Hermione held her breath. “You are so precious to me,” she whispered. Their eyes remained locked, Hermione fascinated with the emotions she saw floating through shaded green eyes. Before Hermione could gather herself enough to respond, Minerva stepped away, gently pulling her by the hand.

Minerva brought her to the Gryffindor common room where a fire was burning brightly. Laid out on a table before the fireplace was a gorgeous display of food and a chilled bottle of Champagne. Hermione was touched. Her eyes filled up as she turned to Minerva. “I don’t know what to say,” she began.

“It is not necessary. You have worked hard these last few months, and I wanted to celebrate your accomplishments with you. I am proud of you, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Minerva. This means the world to me. You, I—” Hermione just stopped herself from blurting out her love. Instead she pulled Minerva in for a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered.

She felt more than heard Minerva’s response. “You are most welcome.”

Releasing her hold, Hermione sat down on a transfigured, padded high-back chair and eyed the food, realizing just how ravenous she felt. “This looks delicious.” She looked up into amused eyes and grinned.

Minerva opened the Champagne and poured the golden liquid into two crystal flutes. She wordlessly passed one to Hermione and held her gaze. “To one of the most intelligent, resourceful, impressive witches I have ever known. It is an honor and a privilege to call you my friend.” She lifted up her glass. “To you, Hermione.”

“Minerva, those words could easily apply to you. Thank you for allowing me into your world, for spending time with me. To you.” Hermione lifted her own glass and saluted before sipping the liquor.

Conversation flowed easily as they enjoyed their food. Hermione felt contentment steal through her as the hours passed by. Eventually Hermione ended up on the sofa watching the fire, curled against Minerva’s side as verbal exchanges became intermittent. Hermione finished off her third glass of Champagne, appreciating how relaxed she felt. She was looking forward to vacationing with Minerva, and she could not help but hope they would share more nights like this one.

Closing her eyes, she luxuriated in the feeling of strong fingers combing through her hair. She bit back a moan as Minerva massaged her scalp, not wanting to do anything that might cause the older woman to stop her ministrations. She breathed in deeply, comforted by Minerva’s scent—spicy and distinct.

“Well, I believe that settles it then, Hermione,” Minerva whispered next to Hermione’s ear.

“Hmm?” Hermione questioned.

“You must not be a cat animagus. If you were, I am quite sure you would be purring by now.” Hearing the humor lacing her words, Hermione could not hold back her chuckle.

“Does that mean you purr when touched a certain way?” Hermione asked as she turned her head. She realized a bit too late just how close they were—her lips mere inches from Minerva’s parted ones. Her eyes flew up to deep green ones, not moving a muscle, not wanting to move away.

“If I give away all my secrets now, what will keep you coming back?” Minerva said in a low voice. Hermione smiled, enchanted.

“I daresay you will never have to worry about that, Minerva. The more I learn about you, the more I want to know. I do not believe I will ever grow bored or that my desire will ever wane,” Hermione admitted. “I am more worried that you will find my company wearisome.”

“You may rest easy, Hermione. That is as likely as Ronald Weasley becoming the next Minister of Magic.” Hermione could not hold back the guffaw that rolled through her.

Hermione turned back and leaned against Minerva, sighing in pleasure. They stayed that way while the castle settled into the night, Minerva’s arm now wrapped around Hermione’s chest and curled around her shoulder as Hermione hooked her hands upward to rest on it. Minerva’s free hand began to ruffle through Hermione’s long hair once again, and Hermione closed her eyes to better concentrate on the sensations.

“I will be leaving early tomorrow morning. Feel free to join me any time on Sunday,” Minerva said softly.

“Okay. I am looking forward to it,” Hermione murmured, feeling heavy and comfortable.

“You should go up to bed,” Minerva suggested even as she continued to run her fingers through Hermione’s hair.

“Hmm. I don’t want to. I feel perfectly content right here,” Hermione said. And she did.

“Me too. But your health is important to me. Please humor me, Hermione.”

Hermione dropped her head forward in defeat. “All right.” She felt Minerva pull her back into her body for a moment in a reverse hug before letting go. Hermione hoisted herself up, then turned to extend her hand to Minerva. They smiled as Minerva rose. “Thank you for tonight, Minerva,” Hermione said earnestly.

“It was my pleasure.” Leaning forward, Minerva kissed Hermione’s cheek. “Rest well. I will see you on Sunday.” Hermione nodded wordlessly and watched Minerva take her leave. She raised her hand to her cheek, feeling the area just kissed. Smiling she turned toward her dormitory. She would have sweet dreams tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some Pottermore spoilers are contained in this chapter pertaining to Minerva's background. You are warned!

Chapter 6

Activating the port-key, Hermione stood still as she apparated in front of a grand, sprawling stone structure set upon a gentle slope of land. A gentle breeze washed over Hermione as she stared at McGonagall Manor. At least three floors in height, Hermione could only guess that it held a large number of rooms. It looked historic but not unkempt. Stone lions flanked the front steps, their eyes following Hermione as she approached the thick wooden entrance door. Before she could knock, the door unlatched and creaked open, a house elf appearing before her with a curtsy.

“The Mistress is expecting you.” The elf stood aside and gestured for Hermione to enter.

As she crossed the threshold, Hermione felt a wave of energy rush through her. She looked up toward a sweeping staircase and noted Minerva’s family crest and tartan design on the wall. Looking around curiously, she saw a drawing room to the right, a formal dining room to the left, and a hallway leading to the back of the house in front of her. Before she could investigate further, the elf addressed her once more.

“Please, this way. The Mistress will join you shortly.” Hermione was led into the large drawing room. Hardwood floors were covered with beautiful rugs, the designs rich and complex. Hermione sat in a comfortable leather wingback chair near one of the windows and patiently waited for her hostess. She refused the offer of libations, preferring to wait for Minerva.

“Thank you…” Hermione quirked an eyebrow in obvious question.

“Elsa,” the house elf replied with another small curtsy. Hermione smiled.

“Thank you, Elsa,” Hermione said with a nod.

Her eyes wandered around the room, taking in every decoration, every fabric, every article that created the feeling of warmth, strength, and comfort. The room reminded her of Minerva, unsurprisingly. A gasp cued her to the other witch's arrival, and Hermione slowly raised her eyes to see Minerva's shocked face. Hermione jutted her chin forward while maintaining eye contact, even as her mind shouted out in despair, _She hates it!_

“Hermione,” Minerva whispered as she approached. She pulled Hermione out of her chair and held her by the shoulders firmly as she continued to stare. “My God. You look so different!” Hermione remained still as Minerva tilted her elegant head this way and that, staring and blinking. A trembling hand reached out to cup Hermione’s cheek, turning her head to the side and holding it in position for a few moments before gently turning it back to face her.

“Minerva?” Hermione said. This was killing her, absolutely killing her. She had to know what Minerva thought.

“It is breathtaking.” Dilated pupils stared into widening eyes. “Hermione. What possessed you to cut your hair?”

Hermione shrugged while fighting off a blush. Satisfaction flowed through her, now that she realized how Minerva approved of her new hairdo. It was a drastic cut; her hair resting just at her chin. She had slicked it back and parted it on the left side while tucking it behind her ears. Although her hair had lightened while on the run last year, the sun-bleached hair was gone, and her hair reflected a dark chestnut hue. With her hair swept back and no bangs, it opened up her features and emphasized her chocolate eyes. “I wanted a change.” She also wanted to look older. Her former hairstyle had hidden her facial features. Worse, they connected her to her childhood. She was no longer that girl and did not want to look the way she had while a student at Hogwarts.

“I see. It is very becoming,” Minerva murmured. They stared at each other for another moment before Minerva released Hermione’s face and pulled her in for a hug. “Welcome to my home, Hermione,” she said as she stepped back.

“Thank you. This is a lovely room. I am looking forward to seeing more of the house as well as the countryside.”

“No doubt you will enjoy the library,” Minerva teased. “Let me show you around. This way.” Throughout the tour, Hermione kept feeling eyes on her, caressing her face, her neck, her body. It was maddening.

And welcome.

Hermione had worn a coral-colored, long-sleeved, flannel button-down shirt and fitted jeans. She knew that even during the summer months the weather could be a bit breezy and cool. In addition, her clothes flattered her figure, making her feel good about herself. The coral of the shirt highlighted her lip color while contrasting nicely with her dark eyes. Hermione’s spirits soared as she noticed those emerald eyes sweeping over her time and again.

Minerva was also dressed casually. She wore jeans and a plum-colored jumper that intensified the green of her eyes and the milkiness of her skin. Hermione found herself staring far more than she should. She took a shaky breath as she followed Minerva up the staircase to the third level.

After a leisurely tour of the Manor, Minerva offered to show Hermione one of the best sights of the countryside. _As if her backside isn’t a glorious view in and of itself._

“How can I refuse such an offer?” Hermione said with a quirk of her lips. They set off behind the Manor following a well-worn path up a hill. Hermione could smell the brine on the breeze, coating her skin and clothing as they ascended the slope that would lead them to flat moors that eventually ended at breathtaking cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

“My family has lived here for several generations, long before Caithness extended its boundaries. This house is located in Brough, along the northeastern tip of the Northern Highlands. Not much changes here. It has a wild, timeless beauty that has always called out to me.”

Hermione took in the wildflowers dotting the moorland and agreed that the stark landscape evoked a mystical feeling. She could practically hear the bagpipes playing a melancholy tune. As they crested the rise, she gasped at the scenery revealed. Where the moors met the cliff sides, waves crashed onto jagged rocks far below. The rhythmic sound mesmerized her, and Hermione sat near the cliff face in a half-daze, allowing herself to connect with the beauty surrounding her.

“In a few days, we can hike to Dunnet Head and later explore the bay. I have a feeling you will appreciate the stark beauty those lands offer,” Minerva said softly.

Nodding her agreement, Hermione mused how she had not even noticed Minerva settling beside her and wrapping an arm around her back. Hermione had just automatically leaned into the touch. “It is beautiful here,” Hermione said, her voice reflecting the reverence she felt as she stared across the majestic cliffs. “I can see why you love it so.”

“Aye,” Minerva agreed, her brogue heavy. Pointing east, she said, “That way lies the Orkney Islands. Many ancient ruins, archeological sites, and historical relics are located throughout them. It was a good strategic area to control, and for that reason several countries fought for it.”

“That sounds fascinating,” Hermione said.

“We can go there if you wish, Hermione,” Minerva smiled.

“Wonderful.” Hermione gazed at the ocean view, content to sit here for as long as Minerva would allow. She did not seem to be in any hurry, and Hermione was glad.

After some time Minerva broke the silence. “When I was little more than your age,” she began softly, “I had graduated Hogwarts and accepted a position at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I came back here for the summer before moving to London and fell deeply in love with a local boy, a Muggle who was the son of a local farmer. He knew nothing about witches or wizards, nothing about magic.”

Hermione heard the sigh, and her heart ached. “What was his name?”

“Dougal McGregor. By the end of the summer he had proposed to me, and I had accepted.” Minerva stopped talking and stared out at the ocean for several minutes while Hermione digested Minerva’s words.

“I realized that night that I could not marry him. My mother had married my father without telling him that she was a witch. She hid a large part of who she was for years, and I decided I could not make the same mistake. So, the next morning, I broke off the engagement without explaining why. I was unable to reveal the true reason—that I was a witch—because of the Statute of Secrecy. If I had been entirely honest with him, he might have accepted me, continued to love me. But he might not have, too. And I did not want to lose my job at the Ministry by breaking the statute or choosing to remain here. I chose ambition over love that day.”

“I’m so sorry, Minerva. That seems like an impossible choice to make,” Hermione said as she wrapped her arm around Minerva’s back.

“It was. I was heartbroken. He was my first love. A few years later, after I began teaching at Hogwarts, I received a wedding proposal from my former Ministry boss, Elphinstone Urquart. He was much older than I was, my mentor for several years, and I had not realized that he felt that way about me. I was extremely surprised and embarrassed. I was also still very much in love with Dougal. So, I declined. Elphinstone continued to propose to me every so often over the years, though, and finally I agreed.”

“You were married?” Hermione said in shock.

“Yes, for a short time. I had grown to love him, and we were happy.”

“How long did it take for you to agree to marry him?” Hermione asked curiously.

“About thirty years.” Minerva looked over at Hermione. “I could not marry him while I still harbored hope of being with Dougal. But Dougal died, and I felt freed from those feelings. I was finally able to consider what Elphinstone was offering.”

“So, what happened?”

“Elphinstone died three years later from a venomous Tentacula bite.” Minerva shook her head, blinking quickly. “I packed up my belongings the day of his funeral and moved into Hogwarts. I have remained there ever since, except when I am here.”

“No children?” Hermione asked quietly.

“No children.”

Hermione breathed in deeply, thinking about the information she had just been given. “When did he die?” she asked.

“Ten years ago,” Minerva answered. “I do not give my heart easily, Hermione, but when I do, it is entirely. I am not the type to flit from romance to romance. And for that reason, I am slow to trust, and even slower with allowing a person to know me, the true me.”

Understanding what Minerva was implying, Hermione’s heartbeat picked up speed. Was it possible she might return Hermione’s feelings? It seemed impossible. Turning her head, Hermione’s gaze was caught by bright green eyes. She held the stare, fighting her impulse to duck away, to somehow lessen the intensity, the import of this conversation. “I will not betray your trust, Minerva.”

She wondered whether Minerva would recognize what she was trying to say. She wanted to tell her that she would never hurt Minerva if she offered her heart, that she would cherish it, protect it, care for it. From what Minerva had disclosed, Hermione gathered that Minerva was guarded with her heart, probably due to what had happened with Dougal. And to think that when she had finally opened her heart enough to marry, he had died merely three years later!

“I know, Gràdh.” Minerva broke their stare, her eyes sweeping the field of wildflowers and landing on a seagull floating on the wind currents far below. Hermione watched the bird’s flight path, grateful for the moment and the person next to her.

“I wouldn’t mind learning how to fly,” Hermione said softly. “I have never been comfortable on a broom. Or a hippogriff. Or a dragon, for that matter,” Hermione chuckled. “But I believe that stems from my fear of falling. If I could fly, though, if I had the instinct and the ability, I think I might like it. I think I might love it.”

“Well, we will have to see what is revealed. No matter what your animagus turns out to be, I am certain it will be a natural extension of your courage, goodness, and intelligence.” Hearing these words, Hermione had to fight herself not to pull the older woman into an embrace. They sat companionably, not needing to fill in the silence, instead sharing thoughts as they occurred. It was late afternoon by the time they decided to return to the Manor to prepare for dinner.

“Elsa will come for you in an hour. I will see you then,” Minerva said as they walked through the first floor hallway. Taking her cue, Hermione turned toward the staircase that led to the guest rooms. She would take a nice, hot shower before changing for the evening.

***

They fell into a comfortable routine during their time at the Manor. It was as if the world had decided to grant them a reprieve from the constant demands so that they could enjoy each other’s company. After breakfast each day Minerva and Hermione would explore the countryside, sometimes bringing a picnic with them so that they could wander quite far. Some days they strolled across deserted beaches, while other days they stood atop windy cliff tops—wherever they went, they enjoyed the closeness borne of time spent together uninterrupted. It served as a healing balm, a way to gain perspective on the past, and it helped to prepare them for the demands they knew would soon begin upon their return to Hogwarts.

In the evenings they shared intimate meals before retiring to the library. Sometimes they debated various topics well into the night. Other nights they picked books from the shelves and cuddled as they lost themselves in words. And a few days they attended to Hogwarts’ demands—Hermione by focusing on her teaching lessons, and Minerva by responding to correspondence. They never discussed what was happening between them, and Hermione decided to just enjoy the days without worrying how their relationship might change once their holiday ended.

On their last night at the Manor, they ate a delicious meal by candlelight. A fire burned on the other side of the room, adding to the romantic ambiance. They had dressed up, and Hermione was mesmerized by the way Minerva’s dress shifted as she moved. The dress, a midnight blue hue, had long, fitted sleeves and a revealing neckline that drew Hermione’s eyes to the shadows and what they covered. She could see the puckered scars, remnants of the four stunners Minerva had received while the Ministry controlled Hogwarts during Hermione’s fifth year. She wanted to touch them, somehow take away the proof that Minerva had nearly died before her eyes. Ripping her eyes away, Hermione noticed that Minerva seemed far away, her eyes unfocused as she stared aimlessly. Candlelight flickered over Minerva’s sculptured cheekbones, her demeanor solemn as they sipped their wine, the meal long since finished.

“Minerva?” Hermione said quietly while settling a hand on the older witch’s arm. “Are you well?”

“Aye,” Minerva answered absently before visibly pulling herself together. “I will miss being here. With you,” she admitted slowly. She looked directly at Hermione, candle flames dancing off her shaded eyes. “Soon Hogwarts will demand most of my time and attention. Hermione,” Minerva placed her hand over the hand still resting on her arm. “I hope you know how much I treasure our friendship. Please do not think less of me if we are unable to see each other often.”

“Oh, Minerva. You needn’t fear that. What kind of a friend would I be if I selfishly demanded time you did not have to give? As it is, you will be training me, and I will see you every day at meals and school meetings. I will adapt.”

“We both know that will not be the same. I for one will miss spending time with you,” Minerva said.

“I will miss you, too, but once the school year has begun, I am sure we will be able to figure it out,” Hermione said confidently. Minerva smiled and nodded. Hermione was unsure whether Minerva was merely humoring her or if she truly believed Hermione’s words, but it did not matter. They would see each other, and it would have to be enough.

“Dance with me,” Minerva said softly.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “But there’s no music.” A melodic laugh made her smile.

“Easily rectified.” Hermione watched as Minerva rose and music filled the air. She extended a hand, and Hermione took it wordlessly. They walked toward the front of the room and stopped in front of the fireplace, where Minerva pulled Hermione close. As they swayed to the music, their eyes remained locked on each other. Hermione saw how serious Minerva looked, and she wondered once more what was running through Minerva’s mind. Perhaps her face telegraphed her feelings. Minerva smiled ruefully before saying, “You are beautiful, Hermione, inside and out. I am fortunate to have you in my life, and I am very grateful.”

“We are both fortunate, then,” Hermione countered gently. “And I have no intention of losing this due to work. We will find time for us, Minerva.”

“Yes, of course we will,” Minerva whispered before pulling Hermione closer and wrapping her arms around her firmly.

They danced together through several songs without further conversation. Hermione was hyperaware of the brushing of their bodies, the sound of their breathing, the feeling of their connection. She felt melancholy and joyful, loving this time together but knowing it would soon end. She laid her head on Minerva’s shoulder and trembled as a hand ran down her back slowly before returning to its resting place between her shoulder blades.

“It is getting late, and I think it best we say goodnight,” Minerva said hoarsely as she stopped swaying and merely held Hermione.

“Not yet,” Hermione murmured. She closed her eyes and thought the word _Levicorpus_ while visualizing them dancing above the floor. A gasp caught her attention, and she opened her eyes slowly to see a stunned look on Minerva’s face. Smiling broadly, Hermione said, “I knew I would love flying.” Looking down, Hermione saw that they were hovering about five feet above the hardwood floor, circling slowly as if their feet were touching the ground. The firelight danced off of Minerva’s eyes, and Hermione was captivated by the moment.

They danced on air without another word passing between them, as if they were both holding their breath and absorbing just how magical and priceless this dance was. Once the song ended, Hermione lowered them to the ground gently. Although she wanted to protest their separation, she just sighed and hugged Minerva. Pulling back, Hermione stared into dark eyes and leaned in to kiss Minerva’s cheek. “Sweet dreams, Minerva. I shall see you in the morning.” She broke their embrace reluctantly and quickly left the library before she gave into her growing desire and kissed Minerva properly—as a lover would.

 _How would you know what that entails?_ Hermione’s mind supplied. _You have never had a lover, and you can count on your hands how many times you have kissed another person. She could never want you—too young, too inexperienced, too inferior._

Immediately, Hermione attempted to reject her insecurities. After all, Minerva valued their friendship, enjoyed their time together, and worried about the lack of time they would share in the future. It was probably true that Minerva did not think of her as a potential lover, but that did not mean she was inferior. Hermione had no doubt that Minerva cared for her. That in itself was worth celebrating.

The fact remained, though, that all the time they had spent together at the Manor had lent itself to silly, romantic notions. Now it was time to return to reality. Even if she had felt wooed over the last two weeks, their time together was ending. She would cherish these memories and work toward strengthening their friendship once they were back at work. And as for the messiness of her inappropriate feelings for Minerva, she would just have to make sure she did not act on them.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione let her mind wander as she set up her classroom. Earlier, all the students had assembled in the Great Hall for the Welcoming Feast and Sorting Ceremony. Now they were settling in their houses while Hermione got ready for tomorrow—the big day. Her first day teaching Transfiguration at Hogwarts. She was excited and anxious.

What if they were unruly? What if they wouldn’t stop talking or ignored her? What if they knew who she was and were more interested in hearing about Harry or Ron or Voldemort? What if she was a horrible teacher?

A hand on her arm redirected her unfocused gaze upward. “Minerva,” she breathed.

“Hermione. Come with me, please.”

Hermione walked through the castle beside Minerva without conversation, content to be near her. She knew that with the start of term she would not enjoy many opportunities to be with the older witch in a personal capacity.

Once they reached Minerva’s private rooms, Minerva offered her tea. “Or would you prefer something a bit stronger?” she asked with a small smile.

“No. Tea sounds perfect.” Hermione answered with her own smile. They sat close, facing one another on the sofa. Hermione sank into the familiar comfort Minerva’s presence provided.

“It is perfectly natural to be nervous about teaching, Hermione. In fact, most teachers become apprehensive every year directly before the start of term, regardless of the number of years they have taught.”

Looking up quickly, Hermione tried to gauge the truthfulness of Minerva’s words. She saw sincerity and warmth shining through wizened eyes. At that moment Hermione felt very young and inexperienced. She cursed herself, feeling foolish for believing Minerva might be attracted to her. How naïve! How imprudent!

“What is it?” Minerva asked as she quickly placed her tea aside and slid across the distance that separated them.

Angry with herself, with her silly feelings, Hermione grimaced. She cleared her throat, swallowing down the lump of emotions attempting to choke her and trained her eyes on her trembling fingers—apparent enough that Minerva placed her hands over Hermione’s and gently took the rattling tea cup and plate away.

“Hermione?” she asked, worry lining the name.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Hermione smiled weakly. “I am sorry, Minerva. You are right. I am nervous.”

“There is no shame in that. In fact, it is a well-known secret that many professors suffer from anxiety dreams. For years I dreamt of standing in front of the classroom without a ready lesson plan. Then there was the dream of not being able to transfigure a pin into a butterfly,” Minerva continued with a grimace. “Please do not fret, Hermione. I have confidence in your abilities, and so should you.”

Nodding, Hermione tried to believe that Minerva was not speaking to her in a condescending manner, tried to believe that Minerva viewed her as an equal. Her insecurities, though, cast doubt, shading every word Minerva said.

“I’ll give you some advice that Albus gave me shortly before my first day of teaching. Be stern and clear with your expectations. Don’t try to be friends with your students. It matters not whether they like you,” Minerva began.

“Obviously Snape took that advice to heart,” Hermione muttered.

With a slight smile to acknowledge the comment, Minerva continued. “It is easier to relax the rules later in the school year than to be too lenient in the beginning and have to fight for their compliance. In addition, always plan an extra activity for each class, just in case they finish the assignment early or you find that the current class activity is not well received. And follow your instincts, Hermione.”

Looking into Minerva’s eyes, she saw kindness and compassion. Hermione nodded, a small smile gracing her lips. “Thank you. That helps quite a bit.” And it did. With her age as a possible issue, she had found herself uncertain as to how friendly she should be. Now she had a better idea of how to treat her students.

“I fear we will not have much time to spend together after tonight, but I would like to at least set up a schedule for your animagus training.”

“Sure. What do you have in mind?” Hermione asked.

“How about Fridays after dinner?” Minerva asked. “We can begin this week.” Hermione agreed. “And in the meantime, here are some books that may prove useful.” Minerva lifted her wand from its place on a side table and with a softly spoken command three books flew through the air. Hermione caught them when they were close enough.

 _“History of Animagus. The Animagus Mystery. A Step-by-Step Practical Guide to Finding Your Inner Animal_ ,” Hermione read, fascinated. “I had no idea there were books on this.”

“Only a few books are available due to the fact that not many are able to obtain animagus status. What you are undertaking will be quite strenuous. You will in all probability fail time and again in your attempts to transform, but I hope you will not give up. I will do everything in my power to help you.”

Hermione was unsure what to say. Was Minerva insinuating that she might not be intelligent enough to grasp the process? That she might not work hard enough? Bitterness rose like bile up her throat. Minerva thought so little of her.

“And to think that Harry, Ron, and I were able to destroy the Horcruxes and kill Voldemort. It’s a miracle,” Hermione murmured, her words heavy with sarcasm.

“Not at all. You three are extremely powerful, even at your young age. You will achieve great milestones in your life, Hermione. Make no mistake,” Minerva answered, her gaze fixed on the blazing fire, seemingly oblivious to Hermione’s self-mockery.

“Am I so young that you find it remarkable, Minerva?” Hermione asked.

Sharp eyes focused on her. “Perhaps it is only that I am so old,” Minerva parried in a light voice.

“Age is just a number,” Hermione said harshly as she squeezed her hands together and leaned forward. “I know I still have much to learn, but I am trying,” she said in exasperation as she waved toward the books now resting on the sofa.

“Some things take time and experience, Hermione, no matter how much we wish it were otherwise,” Minerva said in a soothing voice.

“You think of me as a child,” Hermione raged, upset at the thought. She jumped up and hugged herself as she turned toward the tall window beside the bookcase. She felt bereft knowing that Minerva viewed her as someone to be coddled and humored.

“No, Hermione,” Minerva said firmly as a hand turned Hermione around to face her. “You are mistaken. I apologize if I have treated you in any way that may have led you to that conclusion. Frankly, you couldn’t be further from the truth if you tried.”

Hearing those words, Hermione’s forehead crinkled. _What does that mean?_ “I don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t expect you do,” Minerva agreed as she ran a thumb across Hermione’s cheek, resting it at the corner of her mouth.

Hermione felt rooted to the spot, as if she had been struck by a stun spell, captured by darkened eyes and a touch that made her body burn. This was something that had been happening more and more often. Minerva would touch her casually—fingers brushing her arm, a hand holding hers, or a friendly embrace—and the effects were startling, overwhelming. She lived for those moments and wanted more. Hermione’s eyes flitted over Minerva’s face, staring at parted lips before being sucked into swirling, green eyes. She leaned in, needing to understand and knowing that Minerva would help her.

It was nearly a surprise to feel lips brushing against hers. Nearly a surprise to feel herself responding so naturally. Nearly a surprise to hear herself moan as strong arms wrapped around her to hold her closely as they kissed again and again. Nearly a surprise to realize, finally, what her heart had always known: Minerva returned her feelings. Hermione smiled into the kiss as she allowed her hands to rake through black tresses, pulling them from their neat bun as she refocused on the wonderful kisses they were sharing.

Breaking away, Minerva leaned her forehead against Hermione’s and whispered huskily, “Do you understand now, Gràdh?”

“Mmm. Yes. I think that’s the best explanation I have ever received,” Hermione muttered as she grinned. Minerva’s short bark of laughter made her smile wider. She could feel hands running over her back, causing her to tremble.

“Are you cold?” Minerva whispered as she tilted her head to nibble up Hermione’s neck.

“N-n-noo,” she stuttered, overcome by her body’s reactions. She felt Minerva smile against her neck and shuddered, a small whimper making its way past her lips.

“Nooo?” Minerva asked with a teasing lilt. “Are you sure?” she persisted as her teeth tugged on an earlobe. Hermione groaned, closing her eyes as a bolt of desire roared through her.

“Yessss,” Hermione hissed.

Demanding lips found hers and this time—sweet Merlin!—Minerva’s tongue swept along Hermione’s upper lip. Hermione opened her mouth to welcome the more intimate kiss, tremors moving throughout her body, arousal muddying her thoughts.

She had never experienced a kiss like this! She felt full yet hungry. Sated yet incomplete. She wanted more, needed more. Holding Minerva tightly, Hermione tilted her head and kissed back for all she was worth, trying to convey her intense feelings. Evidently Minerva understood, as a low groan was ripped from the older woman, resonating through Hermione and settling low in her belly. Minerva shifted as her tongue rubbed against Hermione’s provocatively, and they both moaned at the closer contact. Just as Hermione felt her knees begin to buckle, Minerva eased her head back and gently broke the kiss.

“No more talk about being viewed as a child, Hermione,” Minerva said, her Scottish burr rolling over her. Hermione’s eyes fluttered open at the words, and she nodded wordlessly. A warm hand cupped her chin. “I would not kiss a child, and I haven’t viewed you as one for a long time.”

A smile broke out at the words, Hermione eyes lighting up with happiness. “I don’t ever want age to be a factor between us.”

“I know. But sometimes, whether we wish it or no, we will have to acknowledge the age gap.” She held up a hand as Hermione began to object, gently placing a finger over Hermione’s lips. “However, it has not stopped these feelings from growing, Hermione.”

“Nor mine,” Hermione agreed strongly.

“I believe you.” Minerva pulled Hermione in for a quick hug before drawing back and pulling her by the hand to the couch. They sat down, and Minerva stared at their clasped hands silently.

“What does Gràdh mean?” Hermione asked shyly. This was the second time Minerva had used that word.

She felt her hand squeezed. “It means love,” Minerva said with a small smile. Hermione blushed, and Minerva’s smile widened.

“Hermione, your future is a blank slate. You can do anything, go anywhere, be anyone you desire. You have the intelligence, the courage, the fortitude, and the drive to succeed. I truly believe that you will become one of the most powerful witches we have ever seen, if not the most powerful one. Already you are far and away one of the most impressive witches around, and you earned top scores on ten N.E.W.T.s—an unprecedented achievement. Your natural skills and ability to adapt quickly have brought you far.” She stopped talking and gazed at Hermione.

Hermione stared back dumbly. She found it hard to believe. Certainly Minerva was the most powerful witch and would continue to hold that title for the rest of her life. Hermione could only hope to study with her, to learn from her, and to perhaps be worthy of the affection being offered to her. She shook her head, unable to accept what Minerva was saying.

“I don’t agree. I am flattered, but I do not have that type of skill. I have to work hard to learn every spell, to remember every nuance, to move the wand as is needed. I have no natural skill, and I certainly am not able to adapt quickly.” She looked away, ashamed. “I am afraid you have misjudged me.” She wondered whether Minerva had mistaken her feelings, too. Perhaps she had based them on the inaccurate belief that Hermione was special, gifted, worthy.

“Hermione,” Minerva said sternly. “I will not tolerate false modesty or a mistaken belief that working hard is equivalent to having no natural abilities. Anyone who seeks to excel must put the time in. I certainly do, and I expect you will continue with your studies. Now, I believe we have had this conversation before. Do you not trust my judgment?”

Nodding her head, Hermione was quick to reassure Minerva. “Yes. I trust you implicitly.”

A soft smile lit Minerva’s features. “Good. We will begin training on Friday. I will see you before then, of course, at meals and meetings, but we must keep a professional distance. I, for one, will find that extremely hard to do.”

Smiling in relief, Hermione ran her fingers down Minerva’s cheek. “We’ll manage, I am sure.” Her heart soared with the knowledge that Minerva returned her feelings, that the attraction was mutual. She would prove to Minerva that her affections were well-placed. She would do everything in her power to fulfill Minerva’s belief that they were equals. She would take care of Minerva’s heart even as she delivered her own to the older witch.


	8. Chapter 8

Sweat dripped down the back of her neck as Hermione attempted to execute Minerva’s instructions. She focused on the structure of her body—the bones, the muscles, the joints, the nerves. She thought of the interconnections of the different parts of her body and how the brain reacted to sensory input. She thought of the blood rushing through veins and arteries, carrying oxygen and stimulating nerve receptors. She visualized each cell transforming to a new, animal cell. Her left hand began to bubble and elongate, and she issued a shriek as pain engulfed her.

“Hermione!” she heard distantly before the pain abated. She panted, eyes closed tightly as her body began to relax. Opening her eyes, she realized she was supine on the ground. She sat up gingerly as Minerva handed her a goblet of water.

“Thank you,” Hermione said meekly before raising it to her mouth. Her parched throat swallowed the water, emptying it quickly.

“Let me see your hand,” Minerva requested. Hermione raised it for inspection and noted that it looked unmarked. “You are fortunate. I feared we might have to make a trip to the hospital wing. Poppy would not be pleased.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand what I am doing wrong,” Hermione said dejectedly.

“You are thinking too much. Part of being an animagus is tapping into your inner knowing. You need to listen to your body instead of trying to guide it into a particular transformation.”

“But I thought I was supposed to visualize the transition, to see my body changing,” Hermione said.

“Yes, but it is important not to react to the changes as they occur. Whether you meant it or not, you were telling your body how to transform, and that led to your body beginning to morph into a specific animal. If you had continued, you might have changed part of your body to a specific animal, perhaps your entire body, but you would have changed yourself entirely as you had directed your body instead of as it wished to change. In other words, if you had changed into a cat, you would have had the mind of a cat instead of your own mind because it is not your animagus form. That is extremely dangerous since you would have been unable to change back. And if no one were with you when the change occurred, no one would know the cat was you, and you would not be changed back to your human state. You would live the rest of your life as a cat, but you wouldn’t know it since you would have a cat’s mind.”

Hermione gasped at the implications. She had been forcing the transformation. She had visualized a cat, believing that since she and Minerva were so in tune with each other, it was likely her animagus, just as it was Minerva’s. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“How am I supposed to guide the transformation if I don’t know what my animagus form is?” Hermione asked.

“You must listen to your body while sifting out extraneous thoughts—your inner commentary—to complete the transformation. And once you have transformed into your animagus, you will find that the transitions will become easier and quicker.”

“I can’t help thinking! How do you do it?” Hermione asked.

“It is automatic for me now. After all, I have been changing for decades,” she said, humor lacing her words.

Groaning, Hermione dropped her face into her hands.

“Think of it this way, Hermione,” Minerva said as she placed a soothing hand on her shoulder. “Listen to your body as you do when you are tired or hungry or in pain. Your body sends out signals. You have been trained to receive those signals since you were a baby. Now you need to train yourself to listen to your very cells as they vibrate within you. It takes time and practice. Don’t give up.”

“I won’t.” And she wouldn’t. She refused to fail. Minerva had warned her that it would take time and dedication. The books had pretty much said the same thing. They had only been training for about three months. The holidays would soon be upon them, and the cooler weather reminded Hermione that she would have to decide where she would be staying—here or elsewhere—while the students were away.

Rising, Hermione removed her sweat-soaked teaching robes, revealing casual workout attire. Turning toward a row of desks, she set the clothing down and stretched. Her dark green, fitted t-shirt and black yoga pants were light and comfortable. As she lowered her arms from above her head she felt a pair of strong arms slide around her abdomen and pull her back into a solid, warm body. “Mmm,” Hermione moaned as she closed her eyes and leaned her head on Minerva’s shoulder. She had missed Minerva so much.

Once the school term had begun, Hermione had become immersed in her teaching obligations. Between that and the endless demands Minerva faced as the Headmistress, they had spent little time together. Sure they saw each other each day in passing, and they kept to the Friday night training schedule, but they had found it hard to relax together, to just be together. To deal with such time constraints they had earmarked certain dates to see each other: at least for a few hours during the weekend and on special occasions. They had celebrated Hermione’s nineteenth birthday in September and Minerva’s sixty-third birthday in October together.

When they were together in a non-professional capacity, it was as if no time had passed. Hermione felt comfortable in Minerva’s arms while reading, discussing whatever entered their minds, and kissing. At some point they would give in to their desires and kiss. Sometimes the kisses began slowly. Gently. Other times it was as if they were starving and could only find sustenance through the joining of lips as they held each other closely.

Last month had been so hectic that they had not been able to spend time together for the last two weekends. Hermione had felt lost and at loose ends even though she’d had enough work to keep her busy. She had missed Minerva terribly. Even spending time with Harry had done little to soothe her. He had teased her about her restlessness mercilessly, much to her chagrin. She had turned the tables on him, though, by mentioning how often she saw Ginny, as opposed to his limited access.

Hermione was glad Ginny was not her student. She would not want to deal with that type of dichotomy. She had begun to understand the complexities involved with a teacher and student developing a personal relationship, partly due to the changes in her relationship with her former professor. She was so grateful that Minerva had decided to accept their bond instead of deeming it inappropriate and off-limits.

Soft lips slid down her neck as Hermione turned her head to allow better access. “Hermione,” Minerva whispered huskily against damp skin. Hermione reached back to gently hold Minerva’s hips through the thick green teaching robes. She felt Minerva’s hands lightly rising to stroke her sides, her ribs. Hermione’s heart rate picked up with anticipation. Minerva had never done more than kiss and hold her in the past. Although Hermione’s body wanted more, she never pushed the older woman. It was more important that they take it slowly and build upon their relationship. She knew she could trust Minerva, that she cared deeply for Hermione. They had time.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” Hermione whispered.

“And I you,” Minerva rumbled next to her ear before sucking behind it. “Hermione, would you like to stay with me at the Manor over the winter holiday?”

Happiness swept through Hermione as she received the invitation. “Yes, Minerva. I would love to,” she answered.

“What of your friends? Don’t you usually spend the holidays with them?” Minerva questioned as she delicately kissed the nape of Hermione’s neck. Hermione shivered at the feelings of those lips moving along her neckline so slowly.

“I do, but I would rather be with you, Minerva,” Hermione said breathlessly. She felt a smile against her skin and trembled.

“The Weasleys invited me to their Christmas celebration, too. We could go together,” Minerva suggested softly.

Hermione gasped. “Are you sure, Minerva? They might guess the nature of our relationship,” she said. _Of course, Minerva must have realized that. And, they might not. Since we work together, wouldn’t it be natural for us to arrive together?_ “Although, Harry is already aware of my feelings for you.”

“Is he?” Minerva asked in a surprised voice.

Suddenly shy, Hermione expanded. “He guessed my feelings as soon as I told him that I would be remaining here to help repair Hogwarts.” Hermione became a bit nervous as they stood together silently. Minerva kissed the side of her neck, and Hermione’s anxiousness abated as she melted into the body supporting her.

“I do not mind if others know of our relationship, Hermione,” Minerva said softly.

Smiling fully, Hermione said, “They might not guess. But it doesn’t matter. We will go to the Weasleys’ house together and spend Christmas break at the Manor.” She felt Minerva’s arms hug her tightly.

“Good.” A moment later hands began to stroke her from hips to stomach to just under her breasts again and again while Minerva nipped her ear and neck, driving Hermione crazy. Hermione groaned, digging her fingers into the thick robes and pulling Minerva’s hips closer. Her hands slipped back to cup muscular buttocks, massaging them as her eyes slipped closed.

Hot hands covered her breasts, and Hermione’s breath left her. She arched as thumbs brushed against her nipples, calling them to attention. Sharp teeth scraped down her neck and rested where neck met shoulder, lips sucking strongly at that juncture. Fingers pinched her nipples, causing Hermione to cry out her arousal. Hermione twisted her neck and caught Minerva’s lips in a torrid kiss that went on and on, tongues dueling as those fingers twisted and squeezed Hermione’s breasts relentlessly. Finally unable to endure any more without touching more of Minerva’s body, Hermione turned in Minerva’s arms and pulled her close to continue plundering that enticing mouth. Her hands found their way inside the long teacher robes, and Hermione lightly caressed responsive breasts, hearing a feral growl ripped from Minerva’s throat.

“Minerva, you feel so good,” Hermione muttered between kisses. She broke the kiss and stepped away, pulling her shirt over her head in one fluid motion. She looked into eyes darkened with desire. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Hermione stepped forward and reached for Minerva’s robes. “Please. I want to feel you against me.” Her hands trembling, Hermione began to remove Minerva’s outer robe, only to be stopped by shaking hands over hers.

“Hermione, I will not have our first time together be reduced to a half-fast, passion-induced frenzy in your classroom. As much as it pains me to say this, I think it best we stop. I apologize for not controlling myself better.” Hermione nearly wept with frustration as she was pulled into a tight hug. She rested her head on Minerva’s shoulder while she sought to control her breathing. She felt foolish and rejected.

Her pride well-bruised, Hermione pulled away and retrieved her shirt, quickly donning it. She then strode to the line of desks off to the side and picked up her discarded robe. “Please excuse me,” Hermione said quietly and left before hearing a reply. She entered a hidden passageway that brought her close to her private rooms. After entering her sanctuary, she walked into the bathroom and stripped. She would not cry. She would not cry. She would not cry.

Stepping into the shower, she stood under the hot water, allowing it to unravel her knotted muscles. She refused to think about what had just occurred. She would not remember how it had felt in Minerva’s arms. She would not revisit the sensation of those lips covering her mouth, her neck, her shoulders. She would not contemplate the sounds Minerva had made or the closeness of her body or the sight of those passion-darkened eyes. And she most certainly would not think about how easily Minerva had been able to turn her away.

***

For the next day Hermione did not leave her rooms. She ate sparingly of the meals the elves brought to her, no doubt through Minerva’s orders, and refused all requests for entry. Minerva sent her messages bound to her owl’s leg and delivered more through her cat Patronus, but Hermione did not acknowledge them. How could she? She was embarrassed and angry. Minerva had taken it upon herself to decide when and how they would make love—didn’t Hermione have a right to decide, too? She may not be as experienced, but she knew her feelings were pure and true. She wanted to express those feelings in the most elemental way. She wanted to give herself to Minerva completely, but it seemed that Minerva felt differently.

Hermione thought back to their vacation at the Manor. Minerva had told her about her past romances, obviously trying to make some point. And what of their first kiss, shared after Hermione had mistakenly believed that Minerva viewed her as a child? Hermione feared that Minerva was trying to protect her too much, a misguided form of chivalry. It was true that Hermione wasn’t worldly or even experienced. She had never felt someone’s hands exploring her body, never lain with another person, even the act of kissing was still an awe-inspiring event for her. Yet, even though she was still a virgin, that did not make her less able to make the decision of when she would give herself to another. It wasn’t as if she were offering herself to just anyone, driven by raging hormones or impetuousness.

Why couldn’t Minerva understand?

With a sigh, Hermione propped herself up with a pillow against her headboard, opened _A Step-by-Step Practical Guide to Finding Your Inner Animal_ , and began to read. She was determined to master her animagus form. This book gave her practical tips on how to “hear” her animagus’ voice and connect with the form. Closing her eyes, she mulled over the latest chapter. It told her to take note of her dreams, for they were a bridge to her subconscious mind and powerful indicators of what form her animagus would take. This didn’t help her too much, though, since her dreams had consisted of Minerva’s cat animagus, Dumbledore’s phoenix, Fawkes, Sirius Black’s wolf, and Ron’s rat. All types of animals filled her dreams, and none of them helped her to ascertain what she so desperately wanted to know.

Tired and distraught, Hermione placed the book next to her and closed her eyes. It was late, and she welcomed the end of this day. She fell into a deep sleep and dreamt of flying around Hogwarts. Soaring to the Quiddish pitch, she opened her beak and sang a heartbreaking lament. She felt so sad, tears streamed down her feathered face as wind buffeted her downy body. Once she finished her song, she lifted off and flew toward the Forbidden Forest. And her heart was left on the field far below.

***

Still groggy, Hermione opened her eyes slowly. She remembered the feeling of flying, her wings gliding on the wind as she lifted her head to the winter breeze. Feeling an odd prickling on her skin, Hermione pushed her covers back. Her eyes widened as she felt her body twisting, morphing into a new form. Feathers spread across her chest as her hands and feet elongated and strengthened. She felt constricted, and looking down she saw her body covered by her flannel pajamas. She leaned down and painstakingly unbuttoned her top with her mouth.

Beak.

Hermione squawked her surprise.

Once her top was completely undone, Hermione shook her body furiously. The fabric fell off her back as she spread her wings. _Aaahh. That felt so good._

She looked down at her pajama bottoms, wondering about the logistics of removing it before leaning down and taking the waistband in her beak. After several minutes of frustrating maneuvering, she got the flannel pants off her body without too many rips.

 _How did Minerva deal with her clothes when she transformed into a cat?_ She would have to ask.

Once they were talking again.

She sighed silently.

Hermione cocked her head to see what she looked like. Gold and scarlet plumage covered her body. She hopped off her bed, fluttering her wings to break the fall, and looked toward her vanity. She pushed off the floor and spread her wings while concentrating on pulling herself through the air and across the room. She soared easily to the bureau and landed lightly in front of the mirror.

That hadn’t been hard at all. It was just like walking.

Kind of.

She was excited by the possibilities flying presented to her.

She stared at herself in the mirror, captivated. Her eyes were a golden brown, surrounded by gold feathers running down her neck and over her chest. On the top of her head was scarlet plumage, the feathers closely cropped around her head. The shaping of the red feathers closely matched her present hairstyle, and Hermione chirped her approval. Turning to her side, she viewed the rest of her body. Gold down covered her neck, chest, and body, although her back was a mixture of red and gold. Her tail was comprised of long plumes of gold and reds tapering off to a pointed tip. Spreading her wings, she admired the scarlet tint that merged with darker reds and gold highlights. Nodding slightly, she admitted to herself that she looked impressive.

Hermione’s beak was hooked. Judging from the damage she had inflicted on her nightclothes, it was also sharp. _Why didn’t I just banish my clothes?_ Hermione thought suddenly. She shook her head. She had to do better. Part of the strength of turning into an animagus was to tap into the animal’s skills while maintaining her own. There was no reason she could not perform magic while in this form.

She wondered distractedly whether Minerva applied some type of charm on her clothes to disappear when she transformed and to reappear when she reverted back to her human state. Hermione supposed she could transfigure them to an object that remained as part of her animagus form. It might be hard to keep the object on her body, though. She would have to experiment with it at a later time.

Looking into the mirror once more, Hermione extended one of her talons and admired how strong it was. She had no doubt that her human body would incorporate such changes over time, toning her appendages and adding strength to her body. She wondered what other benefits she would experience.

She extended her wings once more and cocked her head at the mirror. The underside of her left wing looked odd. Twisting her head so she could look at the area directly, she felt her heart plummet. The word “Mudblood” stretched across the area. The feathers surrounding the scar seemed to highlight the ugly skin, and Hermione felt tears form. She let loose a pained treble note, piercing the air with her sorrow. Well, that was evidently her identifying marking. How could she even think of registering with the Ministry if that were her only distinguishing characteristic? She squawked her disapproval.

She would have to revisit this topic later. Perhaps Minerva could provide some insight.

Once they were talking again.

Now that she had finished her inspection of her body, she allowed herself to label what type of bird she was: a phoenix. It was unheard of for an animagus to be a magical creature, and yet she was. She wondered what that signified. Minerva had told her that an animagus was an extension of one’s inner traits and personality. Delight flooded through her. She threw back her head and made a trilling noise as she laughed with joy. The musical cadences flowed over her as she made the decision to fly.

Spreading her wings, Hermione carefully circled her room and left via the window. She felt the fizzle of magic as she traveled through the invisible barrier used to protect the castle from the outside elements. Wheeling across the sky, Hermione laughed again and then began to sing, bliss bleeding through the notes as she felt power and magic flow through her. This was invigorating, exhilarating, liberating. Time lost its meaning as she explored the area. She flapped her wings and glided over the land, her eyes picking out small animals scampering away far below.

Eventually, she began to tire and reluctantly turned back toward Hogwarts. Once she flew into her room, she landed on the bed and transformed back into human form. Exhaustion flowed over her, and she closed her eyes, not caring that she wore no clothing as her overtaxed body welcomed sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Lots happening in this one. I hope you enjoy it!**

A faint knocking on her door awoke Hermione. Not quite understanding what was happening, Hermione looked around. Her bedroom was filled with sunlight, and her body was quite warm even though she was stretched out on top of her blankets. She heard another knock through the open door and realized someone was outside her private rooms, waiting for admittance.

Was it still Sunday or had she slept into the next morning? Was she late for class?

Movement at her bedroom door brought her eyes to a startled gaze. After a pregnant pause, Hermione’s mind began to function. She was stretched out on her bed. Nude.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Hermione. I will wait for you in the living area,” Minerva said, her voice strained.

Hermione remained frozen for a moment longer before hopping up to get dressed. She groaned as her muscles complained. She was sore from flying. Gingerly she pulled jeans and a chestnut-colored jumper over her tired body and slowly made her way toward Minerva.

“Would you care for some tea?” Hermione asked.

“Let me make it,” Minerva answered as she rose from the sofa. Hermione nodded and sat down, glad Minerva had taken the initiative of starting a blazing fire to warm up the room. Although she was not cold, she wanted Minerva to be comfortable. She stared at the fire even after Minerva returned with a tea set and poured the steaming beverage for them. Hearing a sigh, Hermione shifted her attention to Minerva. The look of sorrow and worry pulled at Hermione’s heartstrings, but her wounded pride kept her mute.

“Please tell me I have not irreparably damaged our relationship,” Minerva said softly.

Hermione returned her gaze to the fire as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I do not understand why you will not let me love you,” she said in a near-whisper. “I thought you reciprocated my feelings, but it seems not.” She blinked back tears, frustrated by her inability to control her emotions. She did not want to cry every time her feelings were hurt.

“Hermione,” Minerva said, a tentative hand coming to rest on her knee. “I do reciprocate your feelings. Surely my actions have reflected how much I care for you.”

Not able to control her response, Hermione shot a scornful look at Minerva. “So it seems,” she replied sardonically, sarcasm hanging in the air between them.

Without warning strong arms gathered her up and pulled her forward so that she lay sprawled on top of the elder witch. Long fingers framed her face with care, and she was forced to look into dark green eyes. “Hermione, please listen to me. You were driving me mad with desire while we were together Friday night. I came so close to giving in, but I want our first time to be everything you deserve.”

She leaned up to graze her lips across Hermione’s cheek, causing her to shiver. “Am I correct in believing that you have not lain with anyone before?” she whispered tenderly. Hermione nodded. “I do not ever want you to feel cheated, Hermione. I do apologize for taking the decision out of your hands. Would it help to know that I have missed you terribly these last couple of days, that the thought of losing you drove me to invade your privacy with the goal of pleading for your continued affections?”

Hermione smiled, no longer able to hold on to her anger. “You have my heart, Minerva. My emotions have ruled my head lately, and for that I am sorry. But please don’t make me wait too long, love. I find myself yearning for your touch.”

Minerva pulled Hermione’s head forward gently, and they kissed slowly, reaffirming their bond. One kiss became two and then several as their passions increased. When Hermione finally raised her head, she looked down to see parted, kiss-swollen lips and dark, desire-glazed eyes. She had never seen a sight so enticing. “You are so beautiful.” The urge to proclaim her love was overwhelming, but she held back. Instead she laid her head against Minerva’s chest and breathed in her distinctive fragrance of ginger and vanilla. She could hear the older witch’s heart racing against her ear, and it soothed her to know she did, in fact, affect Minerva. Gentle fingers combed through her short-cropped hair hypnotically.

After several minutes of lying together on the sofa, Hermione heard her love ask, “Would you like to go for a walk?”

Hermione lifted her head and replied incredulously, “In the snow?” A cocky grin made her chuckle. “Sure.” She rose and extended her hand chivalrously to help Minerva rise. “Let me just put on my outer robes,” Hermione said as she turned to her bedroom. A moment later they left her rooms and made their way out of the castle. Idly, Hermione wondered how Minerva had retrieved her outer robes, scarf, gloves, and hat. She chalked it up to just another mystery regarding the woman who held her heart.

They walked closely although they did not touch, aware of the fact that students were everywhere. Soon they arrived on the edge of the Quidditch pitch, and Hermione looked up at the fire-twisted goalposts and partly-melted metal structures—monstrous reminders of the damage inflicted during the last battle with Voldemort on what used to make up the Quidditch field and stands. Hermione noticed that Minerva’s lips were pressed together in a grim line. Everyone knew how much she loved the game.

“Didn’t you play Quidditch?” Hermione asked lightly, hoping that Minerva would regale her with some stories and in the process release some of the melancholy she must feel for having to cancel this year’s Quidditch season. Once the winter passed they would be able to repair the field, but they had simply not had enough time to do so before the school year had begun.

“Indeed I did. I loved the game. Still do. The freedom and the challenge involved were exhilarating. Quite the adrenalin rush.” Hermione was charmed by how Minerva’s face lit up as she began to relate the details of a particularly difficult game during her fifth year against the Slytherins. Hermione ignored the strong wind, the cold temperature, the snow crunching under her feet as they walked onto the pitch and strolled around the side of the field. When it began to snow again, she lifted her face toward the sky and smiled with delight.

Snow fell quickly with large snowflakes blanketing the pitch, the twisted metal, and all the evidence of the trials and tribulations they had endured while fighting evil. The pure, white substance coated the land with a new look, removing any remnants of unwanted memories. Hermione smiled widely, taken with the sharp smell of snow, the blank slate of life, the shared moment of experiencing Nature at her finest.

She stood still as Minerva continued to walk around the field. Before Minerva got too far, Hermione bent down and scooped up a handful of the fluffy, heavy snow. She packed it together and threw it without warning, hitting her target in the middle of the back. She squatted to scoop more snow before running away, knowing Minerva would retaliate. Feeling the air shift, Hermione ducked just fast enough to avoid receiving a snowball on the back of her head. “Surely you can do better than that!” she mocked, laughing as she ran along the side of the pitch. Hermione threw another snowball, not waiting to see whether it hit Minerva before she ran across the field with a playful shriek.

The snow was starting to come down heavily, the snowflakes smaller and more numerous, hampering Hermione’s efforts to effectively see her intended victim. She packed another snowball in her hands while looking for the formidable woman. An ominous creaking sound wrenched her attention away from Minerva, and as she looked upward she felt a snowball land on her chest. She hardly registered the hit, though, as she watched a section of the twisted metal stadium seating bend under the weight of ice and snow. “Minerva!” she shouted, trying to warn her of the instability of the wreckage, but the woman did not hear her.

Hearing the high-pitched screeching of breaking metal, Hermione yelled out, “Depulso!” as she raised her wand at the now-falling structure and began running toward Minerva. The piece of metal was deflected to the side, but Hermione saw another piece continuing to fall toward Minerva. As if in slow motion, Hermione saw Minerva look up just before the massive piece of twisted metal pushed her to the ground.

Horrified, Hermione screamed in distress. She shouted, “Mobilimetallum,” and pointed her wand to the side to remove the construct. Reaching Minerva’s side, Hermione fell to her knees while her eyes frantically sought confirmation that Minerva was still breathing.

“Minerva!” she cried out as she saw blood rapidly covering the older woman’s chest, pooling over and dripping onto the new snow. The red contrasted horribly against the pure whiteness surrounding them. She saw how Minerva’s chest seemed to be caved in and felt tears spring to her eyes. She checked for a pulse while calling Minerva’s name repeatedly. It was thready but present.

Pain-glazed dull eyes looked up at Hermione. Minerva’s mouth opened and closed several times as Hermione tried ineffectually to staunch the flow of blood.

“No! No! Minerva, you can’t die. You can’t! I love you. Please don’t leave me. Please. I need you.” Hermione shook her head as feelings of helplessness overwhelmed her. Tears and snow mingled as the storm raged on. “I love you.” She shook her head, trying to see better. “I have to get Poppy,” she muttered.

“Her…mi…o…ne,” Minerva said weakly.

“Shhh. Don’t speak,” Hermione said brokenly. “And don’t you dare die, Minerva McGonagall. I gave you my heart. I fully expect to receive yours in return. Hold on!”

Not yet knowing how to transform into her animagus state while in clothes, Hermione hurriedly removed her outer robe, scarf, gloves, shoes, jeans, shirt, and undergarments. She tucked her wand within the garments and stood. It was cold enough to cause Hermione to shiver uncontrollably. Goose bumps covered her body, and her nipples were so hard, they throbbed.

She glanced down and saw Minerva’s eyes glued to her. Gritting her teeth, Hermione pictured herself as a phoenix and felt the transformation occur. It was quicker this time. Easier. She looked down once more and saw a stunned look on Minerva’s pain-lined face. Emitting a long screech, Hermione pushed up with her legs and was airborne.

Hermione flew directly to the hospital wing, passing through the window and landing next to Poppy, the school’s healer. She was alone in her office with a quill in her hand. Hermione transformed back to her human form, not caring that she was nude. “Poppy!” Hermione said urgently. “The Headmistress is dying on the Quidditch pitch. Some of the stands fell on top of her and crushed her chest.” Hermione turned back into a phoenix and looked at Poppy. She seemed shocked.

Hermione squawked loudly. Poppy jumped and shook herself as if she were emerging from a daydream. She held out her hand while yelling, “Accio my broomstick!” Grabbing her medical bag and coat, Poppy turned to Hermione’s animagus. “Lead on.”

Pushing up with her legs, Hermione flew out the window, Poppy following closely. The snow hampered Hermione’s visibility and slowed down her speed, but she was determined to get back as quickly as possible. Looking behind her, she saw Poppy wrestling with the broom and hoped she would be okay. They landed next to Minerva moments later, and Hermione’s heart nearly stopped when she saw how still and colorless her love looked.

Poppy began a series of complex diagnostics to determine what was wrong and what could be done. Hermione, still in her animagus form, leaned over the motionless body. She smelled death.

One look at Poppy’s face, and Hermione knew it was hopeless. Tears leaked from Hermione’s eyes, and she began to emit high-pitched squeals as agony flowed through her. Hermione’s tears ran quickly over her angled face, dropping onto the still body, the body that showed no signs of life. Although Poppy indicated that Minerva was still breathing, she had slipped into a state of unconsciousness. Poppy leaned back on her heels and shook her head sadly.

As her tears bathed Minerva, Hermione’s heart broke. She tipped her head back and began to sing a beautiful, heart-wrenching lament. Her true love was gone, and she was left alone. _How can I live without her?_

She sang for lost love, for loneliness, for colorless days and empty nights. Her melody reflected great loss with no hope for a joyful future. No hope of feeling those strong arms wrapped around her. No hope of watching her eyes darken with passion, or hearing that Scottish lilt caressing her ears, or smelling that distinctive, soothing scent, or tasting those distracting lips. They would never make love, and Hermione would never feel her heart overflow with love. Never again. It died here, with Minerva.

A gasp from Poppy caught Hermione’s attention. Seeing Poppy staring at Minerva, Hermione looked down. Clear green eyes stared at her in wonder. Hermione began to sing joyfully for several moments as she gazed into those emerald eyes. While they continued to stare, Poppy excitedly conducted more diagnostics.

“This is unbelievable. You should be dead. How is this possible?” Poppy sputtered. Hermione stopped singing but continued to stare into blazing eyes.

“One can be healed by the tears of a phoenix,” Minerva uttered softly.

“Well, I’ll say! You are in better physical condition than I have ever seen you, never mind ten minutes ago.” Poppy tilted her head. “Can you sit up?” She reached over to support Minerva as she slowly pulled herself into a sitting position. “Good.”

“I feel good. Better than good, actually,” Minerva said. She looked at Hermione. “Why don’t you change back?”

Hermione couldn’t communicate verbally, so she hopped to her pile of clothes and looked at Minerva. Understanding flashed through her eyes. “Ah. I’ll have to teach you about that,” she said, humor lacing her words. She pulled the clothing toward her and looked at Poppy. “I am going to return to my rooms to rest. I will see you tomorrow.”

“What? No! Minerva you nearly died. I need to conduct tests—”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, and I do thank you for trying to help me, but I feel physically fit—just tired. I will come by to see you tomorrow,” Minerva finished firmly.

No one argued with that tone of voice. Evidently, Poppy knew that, too.

With a sigh, Poppy said sternly, “See that you do, Minerva. I want to make sure you are fully recovered.”

Minerva just nodded. Poppy looked around before getting on her broom and flying back to Hogwarts. The snow had slowed down to mere flurries. It seemed the storm had passed.

Gently, Minerva wrapped her arms around Hermione’s torso. “A phoenix can disapparate and apparate anywhere regardless of any wards or charms and can take others. Just think of my rooms, Hermione.”

Nodding, Hermione visualized Minerva’s living room and felt magic wash over her. Finding herself in Minerva’s rooms, she cocked her head at Minerva, who held her securely in her arms. Hermione squirmed, wanting to be released. “I beg your pardon,” Minerva said as she placed Hermione on the floor. She set Hermione’s clothing next to her. “You need only enchant your clothes and anything else on your person before transforming into your animagus state so that they will be banished and summoned as needed. I cannot say I am sorry for not telling you earlier, though.”

Hermione could see the sparkle in Minerva’s eyes and hear mirth coupled with desire in her voice. Emboldened, Hermione transformed back to her human form. Her nude form. She stood proudly, staring into darkening eyes. Smiling mischievously, Hermione said softly, “I’ll have to remember that for future changes.” She smirked as she noticed her effect on Minerva. The older witch flushed, her eyes trained on Hermione’s body as her breathing quickened.

Stepping into Minerva’s space with a smirk, Hermione ran her hands up the arms of the snow-soaked robes. “We need to get these clothes off of you. They are soaked. And you are shivering.” Hermione unclasped the outer cloak and turned to hang the garment over a wooden chair. She muttered. “Tergeo,” and smiled grimly as the cloak was cleansed of Minerva’s dried blood. She refocused on Minerva, a wave of desire roaring through her.

“Hermione,” Minerva whispered hoarsely. Hermione’s hands were captured before she could work on removing Minerva’s tartan robes. “Please. You have made your point. You are stunning. Breathtaking. Incredible. I want you so badly that I am shaking like a leaf, buffeted by the force of my desires.”

“Then why can’t we?” Hermione asked.

Minerva shook her head as a look of bewilderment crossed her face. “Hermione, don’t you want it to be at the right time? When we have no constraints pressing upon us? Your body will want to rest after your animagus transformations. That will wear off in time, but you are just beginning to adapt. And I nearly died today. My body is spent. I am exhausted.” She kissed Hermione’s knuckles softly. “I want to be at my best for you. Tomorrow we will have to rise early for classes, and I do not think it best for us to remain awake long into the night, which will happen if we give in to our desires.”

With a sigh, Hermione drew Minerva into her arms for a fierce hug. They remained in this position for many minutes, just enjoying the closeness, until Hermione’s stomach announced rather loudly that her body required sustenance. They broke apart while chuckling.

“We had better feed you,” Minerva said as her eyes swept over Hermione’s body. “And although I prefer your current state, it is probably best that you get dressed.” They smiled at each other before Hermione retrieved her clothes. Meanwhile, Minerva waved her wand over her body while muttering _Tergeo_ to remove the copious amount of blood and a hot-air charm to dry her clothes.

They ate quietly, both lost in their thoughts. After they finished their meal, they sat on the sofa, Minerva’s arms wrapped around Hermione. They discussed the upcoming holiday, Hogwarts, and the Manor in soft voices, as if they were sharing their innermost secrets. In some ways, they were. They were planning a future together.

Hermione loved feeling Minerva so close to her. As the evening progressed, Hermione placed her head on Minerva’s lap, moaning her appreciation as Minerva’s fingers rubbed her scalp, stalling behind her ears to massage lightly. It felt heavenly.

“I think it is time for you to turn in, my love. Your body needs rest,” Minerva said.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Hermione murmured, turning her face toward Minerva’s stomach. Her eyes closed as those magical fingers massaged her back. She placed her hands around Minerva’s waist and pushed her head into Minerva’s lap. A low chuckle met her ears, and she grinned.

“Nor do I wish you to leave.” They remained quiet long enough after Minerva spoke that Hermione began to drift off. She heard words whispered near her ear. “Tha gràdh agam ort.” Hermione blinked open her eyes and turned onto her back to look up into Minerva’s eyes.

“What does that mean?” she asked softly. Minerva’s face softened with emotion, her eyes mesmerizing Hermione. She lifted a hand and stroked an angled cheek, loving the way Minerva’s eyes fluttered closed at her touch.

“Those are the Gaelic words for I love you. I did not have the opportunity to tell you earlier, but it has been true for some time. Each day I fall deeper in love. You have my heart, Hermione.”

Hearing those words, Hermione felt her heart leap. She slid her hand behind Minerva’s neck and pulled her down for a heated kiss. When it broke, she smiled widely. She squealed in delight as she was lifted off the sofa in one smooth move. “Minerva!”

“It is time for you to rest, mo Gràdh. Stay with me?” Minerva said as she carried Hermione toward her bedroom.

“I thought you didn’t want to rush?” Hermione asked even as jolts of arousal raced through her.

“Aye. But that does not mean I cannot hold you throughout the night,” Minerva answered as she carefully lowered Hermione onto her bed. Hermione’s blood heated at the look in Minerva’s eyes. “Now then. Let’s find you something to wear.”

“I can just strip down. After all, you have seen me naked,” Hermione teased.

“I am not a saint, Hermione, and I would not have the strength to safeguard your maidenhood while sleeping next to you if you wore no clothes.” Minerva seemed so solemn as she sat down on the edge of the bed that Hermione felt horrible for pushing her.

“I’m sorry, Minerva. I shouldn’t keep challenging you in this way,” Hermione said in a contrite tone. “Please do not be upset.” She retrieved her wand and transfigured her clothes into flannel pajamas. “There. Get ready so that I can feel your arms around me.”

With a nod of agreement, Minerva finished her ablutions quickly and slid into bed. Hermione sighed as their bodies intertwined and their lips met. They shared a slow kiss, ripe with promises. Hermione smiled as Minerva ended it with several light kisses reminiscent of when her animagus had kissed Hermione months ago. Settling into Minerva’s warm body, Hermione closed her eyes, content. She hoped this night was the first of what would become commonplace: falling asleep in Minerva’s arms. Judging by the purring that vibrated under Hermione’s ear, Minerva felt the same way.


	10. Chapter 10

The Great Hall was resplendent, bedecked for the winter holidays with twelve extremely large Christmas trees adorned with eye-catching ornaments and sparkly white lights. Hermione had helped with the placement of the decorations, along with Minerva, several other professors, and the house prefects. At Minerva’s nod the plates filled with the Christmas feast—turkey, potatoes, chipolatas, and mountains of other mouth-watering dishes. Since not many students had chosen to remain at Hogwarts during the holiday break, the house tables had been placed aside, and two large tables had been set up for the students to sit in the middle of the hall. Those in attendance dug into their dishes with gusto as light-hearted conversations traveled across the large room.

Sliding her eyes to her left, Hermione was caught in a warm gaze. She let the warmth flow through her as she smiled. In a few hours they would leave for the Manor. Two glorious weeks together. Hermione was not naïve enough to believe that their vacation would be work-free, but it didn’t matter. Over the last few weeks they had begun to seek each other out whenever possible, alternating whose rooms they shared, working side by side. They hadn’t spent so much time together since the summer when Hermione had been studying for her N.E.W.T.s. Best of all, at the end of each evening they would intertwine their bodies and sleep blissfully into the new day.

Although they had not made love yet, Hermione suspected that tonight would be the night. Her desire to uncover every inch of Minerva’s body, to determine what brought the most pleasure to her love, had been nearly overwhelming at times. More than that though, she wanted Minerva to always know how revered and cherished she was.

Hermione loved to run her fingers through Minerva’s raven locks. Only she had this privilege—only she saw Minerva with her eyes closed, her face reflecting contentment during those moments. Only she could carefully trace with her finger each facet that created Minerva’s incredible face. Only she could hold those dexterous hands, hands that had cast countless spells over the years to protect others. Hermione never forgot how fortunate she was or how grateful she felt for every moment Minerva blessed her life with her significant presence.

“Are you staying here for the duration of winter break?” Professor Flitwick— _Filius_ , Hermione chided herself ( _we are colleagues, after all_ )—asked.

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. She and Minerva had not discussed how to answer such a question. Although Minerva claimed to not care if others knew of their relationship, Hermione could not help but wonder. The choice of how to answer the question was taken from her, though, as Minerva leaned across Hermione and answered, “She is staying with me at the Manor, Filius.”

His eyes flickered from Minerva to Hermione several times as a look of wonder crossed his face. “Really?” he said slowly in an impressed voice. He refocused on Hermione. “That is amazing. I cannot recall the last time Minerva entertained guests in her family home.”

“Oh, really, Filius! Surely you are exaggerating,” Minerva scoffed.

“No, no. I certainly am not.” He stared at Hermione. “I have never been invited there; I can tell you that.” He grinned. “If it weren’t for the stories floating around about the mystical McGonagall Manor up in the Scottish Highlands, I might think that she lived and breathed Hogwarts every day.” He stared at Hermione for a few more moments before leaning in. “Apparently, that is no longer true,” he whispered into Hermione’s ear. Fighting a blush, Hermione looked out over the hall, watching a trio of Gryffindors laughing together.

Hermione smiled, remembering when that was she and Harry and Ron. Her smile faded. So much had occurred since then. She had not been present for the Christmas Feast since the year of the Triwizard Tournament four years ago. Even then Ron had been ruled by his emotions, picking a fight with her on the night of the Yule Ball. She sighed, her memories bittersweet.

A hand covering hers took her out of her melancholy thoughts. Minerva squeezed it and asked in a low voice, “All right?” Hermione nodded as she turned her head toward the older witch. She gasped when she realized just how close Minerva was, her face merely inches away from her own. She was pinned by a look that morphed from concerned to heated in the blink of an eye. Arousal coursed through Hermione as her breathing sped up. Minerva must have seen the effect she was having on Hermione, for she let go of her hand and quickly stood up.

“I have some details to attend to before we leave. We will depart at four, if that is agreeable,” Minerva said. Nodding her consent, Hermione watched as the venerable witch exited.

“It seems you have done what no other has accomplished in all the years I have known her,” Filius mused. Hermione’s expression vocalized her question, and he nodded toward where Minerva had been sitting. “You have gotten behind her barriers, Hermione. She is smitten, I dare say.”

“Oh, well, haven’t you known her for quite a while?” Hermione asked, confused.

“Yes—for decades, but I have never seen her like this,” Filius said with a knowing smile.

Shaking her head with disbelief, Hermione said, “Surely that is not true. She was married…”

“To a very good man,” Filius agreed. “But theirs was a comfortable, soothing relationship. Although it is quite apparent that you also provide those qualities, there is an energy between you, a heightened sense of awareness and tension that binds the two of you together quite differently. The air vibrates around you.” He patted her arm. “I am happy for you both, Hermione.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, shocked by just how observant he was. She wondered whether anyone else had picked up on their progressing romance. They hadn’t exactly tried to hide it; they just tried not to show affection in public for the sake of appearing professional. They certainly did not need students, or their parents for that matter, speculating about their relationship.

After finishing her meal, Hermione returned to her rooms to pack. She pulled out the already-wrapped presents she intended to give Minerva tonight. The first was a quill pen created from one of her phoenix feathers. She had placed an enchantment on it so that the ink would never run dry. Such quills were rare since there were not many phoenixes in existence. She hoped Minerva would not mind that she had used one of her own feathers. Hermione felt a bit tacky presenting a handmade gift to Minerva on their first Christmas together as a couple, but she pushed aside such insecurities.

The next two gifts were intricate platinum and gold brooches. Hermione knew that Minerva often wore brooches to fasten her robes. Minerva was proud of her heritage, and Hermione hoped she would enjoy the two designs she had chosen: a Celtic knot and a Rampant Lion. None of these presents were particularly romantic, but Hermione was wearing her last present underneath her outer robes: a blood-red, silk negligée. She was hoping that they would spend some quality time together at the Manor sooner rather than later. Hermione ached for the older woman.

During the past week, they had worked feverishly to finish their work and clear their schedules. That had prevented much in the way of conversation. During that time Hermione had worked on her lessons for the next term. For the most part, she enjoyed teaching. It kept her skills sharp, and she liked knowing that she was molding young minds, helping them to expand and harness their budding skills. She must be doing something right: her students showed a reverence and respect to her that she gladly accepted.

Ron and Harry would be happy to feast on the chocolate frogs and fizzing whizbees she had received as holiday gifts from her students. Hermione would be keeping the licorice wands, though, since those were by far her favorite treat.

Packing the rest of her clothes, Hermione noted the time and decided to head over to Minerva’s rooms. It was early, but she could always read while Minerva finished her preparations. She murmured, “ _Diminuendo_ ,” as she directed her wand at her suitcase and tucked its small form into the pocket of her robes.

After nodding to several students on her way to the Headmistress’s rooms, she arrived. Knocking once in warning, Hermione entered what had become virtually her second home. Her eyes flitted around the room, landing on Minerva’s welcoming smile.

“I hope you don’t mind that I came early,” Hermione began as she walked toward Minerva. She was unable to say more as she found herself pulled into a searing kiss. When it broke, Hermione rested her head against Minerva’s shoulder.

“I am glad you are here, Hermione. You must know you are welcome at any time, even if I am not present,” Minerva said softly, her breath tickling Hermione’s ear. Hermione felt Minerva’s arms tightening around her. “Are you ready, mo Gràdh?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied breathlessly. She pulled back to gaze into striking emerald eyes, taking the time to run her fingers through Minerva’s loose bun, pulling the hair out so that it flowed over strong shoulders. Gone was Minerva’s signature black hat that she wore during school hours. Many times Hermione had taken it off beloved raven tresses before loosening the bun and running her fingers through the thick hair again and again.

Hermione smiled as Minerva’s eyes fluttered closed, a sigh of contentment breaking the sexual tension prevalent just moments before. She kissed the underside of Minerva’s jaw lovingly before sliding her hands down Minerva’s arms, capturing elegant hands in hers and squeezing gently. They shared a smile before Minerva stepped away to gather her belongings and the port-key.

In the blink of an eye they stood before the gate in front of McGonagall Manor. The wind blew strongly, slicing through Hermione’s outer robes, and she shivered. They hurried up the walkway toward Elsa, who stood before the open front door. Stepping inside the Manor, Hermione felt warmth infuse her, chasing away the momentary chill caused by the weather.

After greeting Elsa and confirming that dinner would be at eight, Minerva murmured to Hermione, “This way.” Hermione shivered at the lilt in Minerva’s voice and followed silently. The air thrummed between them, and Hermione trembled with anticipation. Minerva took her hand as they ascended the grand staircase and made their way toward the master bedroom. Hermione’s nights would be spent in Minerva’s arms.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Hermione found herself embraced, receiving a kiss that left her on fire. Hermione returned the hungry kisses, not holding back as passion consumed her. She pulled at Minerva’s robes, tempted to banish them altogether. Such impetuousness might backfire, however, particularly if Minerva did not wish to be exposed so quickly.

Even as her tongue rubbed against Minerva’s, she felt her insecurities get the better of her. Could she please Minerva? Would she be disappointed with Hermione? _That would be so mortifying!_ All she wanted was to satisfy Minerva and make her feel loved, desired, special. Hermione had strong doubts as to whether she could accomplish such objectives through touch, though.

“What is troubling you?” Minerva asked as she pulled Hermione closer and rubbed her back soothingly.

Hermione felt heat fill her cheeks as she struggled with herself. She did not want to admit to her insecurities. Her inexperience was embarrassing—at least, at this moment. She was not ashamed that she was still a virgin, but now that she was about to give herself to Minerva, she wanted it to be pleasurable, something Minerva would enjoy. How could she admit this to her?

“Hermione, surely you must have realized that I have not been with anyone for a long time. You are not the only one who is nervous. Yet, when we are together, I become lost in the feel of your body, the taste of your skin, and I know that as long as I concentrate on you instead of my own insecurities, I will be able to relate how much I love you through my touch.”

Pulling away to stare into Minerva’s eyes, she saw honesty and love. “I…I did some research—”

“Research?” Minerva echoed, her eyebrows rising dramatically.

“Well, so that I would be familiar with what might please you. I just, I wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t do anything you found unwelcome…” Hermione trailed off at the incredulous look on Minerva’s face.

“You researched having sex in preparation of being with me?” Minerva asked.

“Um, yes. But it wasn’t like I was looking at pornography—” She was interrupted by a hard kiss as hands cupped her cheeks to keep her face in place. Hermione became lost in the sensation of Minerva’s tongue plundering her mouth repeatedly. By the time Minerva pulled back, Hermione’s body was pulsing with need, and she groaned at the loss of that talented mouth.

“I can hardly believe you, Hermione!” Minerva exclaimed, a smile spreading across her angular face as her eyes shined with emotion. She shook her head, looking at Hermione with an expression of amazement. Hermione smiled in return, glad Minerva was not angry. “It should not surprise me in the least. You always seek knowledge when you lack experience. But, my dear,” Minerva touched Hermione’s cheek gently, “you needn’t have gone to such trouble. Surely you have noticed how you affect me?” Hermione nodded. “Good. Now, I think we are overdressed for what we are both wanting so much.”

Hermione stood still as Minerva nimble fingers gently removed her robes. She straightened her stance as she noted Minerva’s passion-glazed look once her negligée was revealed. Under that ardent gaze, Hermione felt her nipples harden, poking through the sheer fabric proudly. She wore no undergarments, not seeing their purpose. Her chest flushed, and although she felt like hiding, she stood still.

“Merlin. You are stunning,” Minerva said tremulously, her hand reaching out to stroke Hermione’s collarbones.

Feeling as if she would faint from the overwhelming waves of arousal flowing over her, Hermione took a shuddering breath. She leaned in for a fortifying kiss, her hands busy with removing Minerva’s robes. Underneath she wore a forest-green dress. Although the neckline was modest, the dress was sleeveless and split up the side, revealing toned arms and legs. Hermione’s mouth watered at the sight.

“You are gorgeous,” Hermione said in a hushed voice. “I want you so much.” They kissed again, longing and need driving them to the side of the four-poster bed.

It was large, with a thick tartan comforter and a warm fleece blanket covering champagne-colored satin sheets. Hermione felt urgent hands at the hem of her negligée just before it was pulled over her head. She reciprocated by turning Minerva around and unzipping her dress. Minerva stepped out of it, her matching undergarments causing Hermione to gasp. Tears pricked at her eyes as she reverently delivered kisses on the area where the scars created by four stunners had once resided. “They are gone!” she exclaimed.

“Yes,” Minerva agreed softly. “A gift from a magical phoenix.” Her trembling body and pleading eyes urged Hermione to continue touching her.

Without further delay, Hermione made her way to the valley between milky breasts and flicked her tongue into irresistible cleavage while reaching around to remove Minerva’s bra.

As their unclothed bodies touched fully for the first time, they both moaned loudly. Hermione pulled back to allow her eyes to feast on tight nubs standing up on rounded, creamy breasts. Not able to resist, Hermione drew a breast into her mouth, her hand gently massaging as she laved it with her tongue, flicking it several times before beginning to pull upward with her lips.

Guttural moans and hands running restlessly over Hermione’s back signaled that Minerva was enjoying her ministrations. Hermione switched to the other breast while gently continuing to pull at the other nipple with her fingers, twisting and pinching as Minerva sobbed, “Hermione!”

Hearing that voice uttering her name as if she were pulling it from the root of Minerva’s being served as the impetus for Hermione to trail her mouth down a toned belly, her hands slipping under the silk panties’ elastic to pull it down long legs. She felt a shaking hand land on her shoulder as first one leg, then the other lifted to step out of the undergarment. Hermione stood up quickly and pulled back the comforter and blanket, crawling onto the bed and turning to Minerva, her arms open.

“Please,” Hermione beseeched. “I need you.” She saw Minerva stop for a moment, her beautiful chest heaving, her eyes heavy with want. Hermione felt burned to the soul by the way Minerva’s eyes swept over her body.

“You are so precious to me,” Minerva whispered quietly before joining Hermione.

Hermione remembered the last time Minerva had uttered those words, on the night she had finished the N.E.W.T. exams and Minerva had surprised her with a celebratory dinner. It had been the day before she had joined Minerva at the Manor during the summer. And now here she was back at the Manor and in Minerva’s arms.

Their lips met in a sensual kiss, Minerva setting the pace as she began to explore Hermione’s body. Instinctually, Hermione arched as a breast was palmed. Minerva’s lips roamed her neck and her chest in random patterns, driving Hermione crazy. When those lips covered a breast, she cried out. She had never felt so out of control, so wanton and unrestrained.

Hearing a growl, Hermione looked down into darkened eyes. What she saw mesmerized her. Minerva rested between Hermione’s legs, her body covered with a sheen of perspiration. Her tongue licked Hermione’s nipple strongly as Minerva rested against her lower body. Hermione couldn’t help but move her hips, loving the weight against her.

“Oh, God!” Hermione cried out when Minerva gently chewed on a lovingly-abused nub, squirming at the amount of moisture gathering between her legs.

Hermione lost her breath when Minerva abandoned her breasts and began to explore her ribs, her belly, her legs. She opened her legs wider and thrust up, wanting so badly to feel Minerva.

“Minerva,” she muttered, her eyes closed as she became lost in sensation. Her eyes popped open when she felt hot breath between her legs. She looked down and nearly passed out from the hungry stare she received.

“I need to taste you, Hermione. Will you allow it?” Minerva asked, her voice a husky burr that skittered up Hermione’s spine.

“Yes! Please!” Hermione nearly shouted. She whimpered as she watched Minerva slowly part her swollen folds with her fingers. She felt a hot tongue lick her entire length, and she pushed her pelvis upward in response. Strong hands pinned her hips to the mattress as Minerva began to nibble on her opening.

Hermione could never have imagined how exquisite this would feel. None of her research had truly described the sensations experienced when making love.

Minerva licked her over and over, sometimes dipping into her opening, other times hitting her bundle of nerves, causing Hermione to chase after that wicked tongue with her body. She fell into a rhythm, slowly gyrating under Minerva as she mewled and panted. She loved everything Minerva was doing to her, and wanted more. So much more. She could feel pressure building, a spreading of warmth that she opened herself up to, even holding her breath in anticipation as her body reacted each time Minerva’s tongue hit her a certain way. Soon, Minerva concentrated on that area exclusively—so sensitive that it nearly burned as Minerva’s tongue flickered over it and sucked lightly.

Feeling as if she were racing toward something momentous, Hermione closed her eyes tightly and tangled a hand in raven locks. She began pushing against Minerva quickly, her breathing jagged as sensation traveled through her body. “Minerva!” she cried out suddenly, thankful to feel a hand clasping hers, grounding her as she rode through the intense orgasm.

She took some long, deep breaths as her body began to settle down. That had felt fantastic, but her body was still taut with expectation. She wanted to be filled, and she knew Minerva could make her feel complete. Looking down into feverish eyes, she could read the knowledge in them. Minerva began to nibble again as her fingers entered just inside Hermione’s opening. She pressed upward, wanting to feel more, but Minerva kept her fingers at the entrance.

“Minerva. What are you doing to me? I need you! Please, please!” Hermione cried out gutturally.

“Are you sure?” Minerva asked, her eyes searing Hermione. She knew what was being asked of her. Minerva did not want her to ever regret this day, this moment. Nor would she. She loved Minerva, and she wanted to give herself over completely. Irrevocably.

“Yes!” Hermione answered firmly, squeezing the hand still holding hers.

Lips kissed the inside of her thighs before Minerva returned to Hermione’s bundle of nerves and licked it strongly with her talented tongue. “Oh!” Hermione said, surprised at just how good it felt. In the next moment a finger smoothly entered her, causing her to cry out as she felt a tearing within her body. Minerva pushed in and remained still for a moment before pulling out nearly entirely, and then she repeated the action. The pain subsided quickly, replaced with spikes of pleasure as she raced toward her second orgasm. Minerva’s mouth kept torturing Hermione, sucking and licking, jabbing and nibbling until Hermione was thrashing about, nearly out of her mind. “More,” she demanded, wanting to be filled, feeling a different type of pressure building in her lower abdomen.

Two fingers thrust into her more forcefully, twisting to press against her in a way that made her jerk with pleasure. She could no longer keep silent, crying out and moaning constantly as their rhythm sped up. She could see the climax approaching, could feel it rushing toward her like a wave, building momentum as it raced toward the shore. With one more thrust she shouted out Minerva’s name as tears overtook her. She kept thrusting, the feeling of completeness making her laugh with joy. She felt so _good_.

Her body spent, lethargy overtook her muscles, weighing her down. She felt Minerva shift as she gently removed her fingers, but Hermione could not find the energy to open her eyes. “I love you,” she murmured as familiar arms pulled her close. She burrowed into Minerva’s neck, kissing it. Hearing a gasp, Hermione began to catalog her body’s reactions. Although she was undeniably tired, her energy was beginning to return. She could hear Minerva’s heart racing, and the knowledge that she was causing such a reaction stirred her into action.

Hermione rose above Minerva and delivered a forceful kiss. She licked at those lips that had tortured her so deliciously and nibbled on Minerva’s lower lip teasingly. Minerva’s groan signified just how far gone she was. Hermione wormed her hand between them and, without warning, entered Minerva using two fingers. Minerva cried out, jerking upward. Hermione re-situated herself so that one of Minerva’s legs was between hers. She began grinding against it as she thrust her fingers in and out of the tight channel, twisting them as Minerva had done so deliciously to her and rubbing against a slightly roughened patch of skin.

Hermione swallowed Minerva’s gasps and moans, thrusting her tongue in time with her fingers, tasting herself. She could feel Minerva’s body shaking beneath her, each thrust more pronounced. It pushed Hermione higher, urging her to gyrate against the toned leg faster.

And then the most curiously arousing feeling occurred: she felt her fingers squeezed and released as Minerva’s sex contracted. Hermione looked down in awe to watch while continuing to drive her fingers into Minerva, listening to her lover’s voice as she called out moments later while climaxing.

Hermione quickened her body’s movements and came soon after with a triumphant roar. Hands pulled her forward for a breathtaking kiss as their bodies began to slow down. These kisses were open and wet. Hermione loved them and returned each one eagerly. As they continued to kiss, Hermione removed her fingers, only to find herself back on the bottom, Minerva repositioned so that she could grind against Hermione’s center.

Breaking the kiss as their juices mingled, causing an irresistible drive for Hermione to undulate against the beloved body pressing against hers, she stared into Minerva’s eyes. They kept their gaze connected as Minerva set the pace. They panted as their thrusts became uncontrolled, Hermione’s hands pulling on Minerva’s backside with each surge to bring her closer. This orgasm, the most intense one by far, hit them both at virtually the same time. They cried out together as they rode the waves of ecstasy for several moments. By the time they slowed to a stop, Hermione felt satiated and boneless. Minerva slid off and pulled Hermione into her side, where she snuggled contentedly. Hermione distantly heard, “I love you,” just before she dropped off into unconsciousness.

When Hermione awoke, she looked around, noting the darkened room. A hand running through her shortly-cropped hair made her smile. She looked up into a warm gaze. “Have I been asleep long?” Hermione asked.

“Only about an hour. I just woke up, too. You wore me out,” Minerva answered with a smile.

“Ah, well, I hope I’ll have the opportunity to do that quite often,” Hermione said with a leer.

“Indeed, you shall,” Minerva answered, her distinctive burr caressing Hermione’s senses pleasantly. “How are you feeling?”

“Wonderful,” Hermione said immediately. “I feel complete.” The blinding smile she received made her smile in response.

“I feel that way, too.” A hand roamed her back as the other one lightly ran down her neck and to the outer edge of her breast. “We have a couple of hours before dinner will be ready. Would you like to join me for a shower?” Minerva asked as her fingers stroked a breast enticingly.

Hermione felt her passion flare, and she got up quickly, extending her left hand to help Minerva rise. “Yes.”

Taking the proffered hand, Minerva held on and bent over the arm to deliver little kisses on Hermione’s scars. She licked and nipped at it, brushing her lips over the length of Hermione’s forearm with a reverence that brought tears to Hermione’s eyes. Minerva sucked on her pulse point before straightening up and pulling on Hermione’s hand, leading her to the master bath.

They stopped before the large marble shower and shared ardent kisses before entering it, once more reigniting the passion that simmered between them constantly. As the five shower-heads blasted hot water all over Hermione’s body, she closed her eyes with a content sigh and allowed her senses to be overloaded by Minerva’s hands and mouth.


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione awoke early, smiling softly as she felt Minerva’s warm body spooned against hers. She felt safe in these arms. And loved. Flashes of their lovemaking over the last few days invaded her mind, and her body heated up. Minerva was an amazing lover. They did little more than make love, sleep, and eat. Although Hermione knew that it would not always be this way, she was enjoying their honeymoon phase. Exploring Minerva’s body, experimenting with what brought the most pleasure to the older woman, was exhilarating. Hermione had spent hours tasting every part of Minerva’s body, licking, nipping, sucking. The sounds Minerva made, the way her eyes flashed and her body moved, captivated Hermione.

It seemed Minerva felt the same way. Hermione submitted willingly to Minerva’s touch, enthralled by how she made her feel. And through this new level of intimacy, they grew closer. It fed into their interactions where often one anticipated the other’s needs, and it fed into the way they moved together, knowing just how to please and fulfill.

Although it was too early to mention soul-mates or bonding, marriage or even living together, Hermione knew her heart belonged to Minerva. She simply could not fathom existing without the older witch sharing her life. In her heart and mind she pledged herself fully to Minerva and waited for the day she could voice such pledges aloud.

When they were not making love or recuperating from their energetic couplings, they talked. Minerva was intrigued by Hermione’s animagus form, in particular. She insisted that Hermione change into it every day so that her body would adapt more easily to this new dimension of her existence. As usual, Minerva’s advice was sound. Hermione was finding that she could shift into her animagus form quite easily now, and she was becoming less tired after each transformation.

Minerva’s fascination was partly due to the fact that no one’s animagus had ever been a magical creature before. She was unsure what that meant for Hermione while in her human state. Would it extend her life? Was Hermione, in effect, immortal? Would some of the phoenix’s abilities translate over to Hermione when she was not in her animagus form? Would Hermione be able to extend another’s lifespan through her magical phoenix tears? So many questions, and it seemed that only time would reveal the answers.

They had stood in front of Albus Dumbledore’s portrait just last week, firing questions at him while he sucked on sherbet lemons. He had seemed just as intrigued as Minerva was. Unfortunately, he could provide little new information, although he had regaled them with several Fawkes-related stories. _Now I know what phoenixes like to eat_ , Hermione thought sourly.

Well, he had shed some light on her abilities, at least. She had seen first-hand how her phoenix tears could heal a person and how she could apparate and disapparate at will, regardless of the location. In addition, he had speculated that she should be able to survive a Killing Curse and could be reborn through the ashes of her death while in her animagus form. Hermione had mixed feelings about that—after all, how would she ever know unless she were killed? She neither wanted to rely on speculation, nor wanted to believe that she would be reborn—not at the risk of it turning out not to be true. After all the speculation, Dumbledore had finally confirmed her own thoughts: only time would reveal the full extent of her animagus abilities and how they would affect her lifespan.

Hermione smiled as she remembered Minerva’s reaction to the phoenix quill she had gifted her. She needn’t have worried that Minerva would find the gift lacking since it was homemade. Instead, Minerva’s emerald eyes had glistened with tears as she had confirmed how touched she was by Hermione’s willingness to share such a personal aspect of herself.

Hermione had not brought up her need to register her animagus form, even though it dogged her thoughts more often than she wished. Hermione was not ready to voice her concerns just yet. As her thoughts began to slide toward her insecurities and fears concerning revealing her animagus form to the wizarding community, she heard movement beside her, and well-known arms pulled her closer into the warm body of her lover.

“Today is the Weasleys’ holiday party,” Minerva said, her voice raspy. Hermione’s ministrations had caused Minerva to scream several times into the night, no doubt causing her hoarseness. Smirking, Hermione rubbed her hand over Minerva’s forearm, wrapped tightly around her torso.

“Yes. I suppose we will have to venture out of your bed,” Hermione said lightly.

“Our bed, I hope,” Minerva murmured, nipping at Hermione’s earlobe.

“Mmmm. I will remain in it for as long as you want me,” Hermione said softly, tilting her head to grant better access to her neck.

“Forever, then,” Minerva replied, her Scottish lilt tickling her ear.

“Then it’s settled.” Hermione turned in Minerva’s arms, intent on ushering in the day properly. She met inviting lips and forgot everything else.

***

After apparating to just out front of the Burrow, Hermione saw welcoming lights streaming through frosted windows. Her hand was taken and squeezed gently. “Ready?” she heard. Nodding, they traveled up the walkway quickly.

Words of welcome greeted them, none questioning the fact that they had arrived together. Harry hugged her tightly and flashed a knowing smile, making Hermione blush. He had made a habit of inquiring about Minerva over the months. He was a true friend, noticing how Hermione had become happier as her relationship with Minerva progressed. He had taken one look at her and guessed when they had crossed the line from friendship to love interest. Often he commented on how much more alive she seemed, how she lit up whenever Minerva’s name was mentioned, and how she exuded happiness. Hermione could not disagree.

Although Minerva was swept away by the elder Weasleys while the younger generation dominated Hermione’s attention, she often felt compelled to look around, only to find green eyes trained on her. Each time she felt the love pulsating between them, and an involuntary smile would light up her face.

Harry nudged her and smiled when he witnessed one of their exchanges. He leaned in and said in a soft voice, “I take it your vacation has gone well.”

“Yes.” Hermione agreed. “It’s all I could have hoped for and so much more. I can hardly believe it.”

“That’s brilliant, Hermione. I am happy for you,” Harry said.

“What’s brilliant?” Ron said as he interrupted their conversation. He handed out glasses and filled them halfway with firewhiskey before sinking in a chair on the other side of Hermione. They were in the living room, relaxing after having feasted on a variety of delicious foods. Hermione had not had the good fortune to sit next to Minerva, instead bracketed between Ginny and Ron, and she felt the separation from her lover keenly. Now here was Ron again dominating her time and attention.

“Oh, I was congratulating Hermione on one of the lessons she gave at Hogwarts,” Harry said jovially. “Hey, Ron, do you remember during fifth year when you transfigured a moustache on your face?”

“Oy! That was a nightmare. What about when you changed your eyebrow to bright yellow?” Ron countered as he took a sip from his cup.

They bantered back and forth, and Hermione was glad for Harry’s quick thinking. She was unsure how Ron would react when he discovered her relationship with Minerva. It didn’t help that he kept trying to engage her in conversation. She went along with it, though, because she did want to remain friends with him. She missed him.

“Hermione, are you listening?” Ron said as his hand landed on her knee.

“What? I’m sorry, Ron. I was just thinking. What did you say?” Hermione said.

“I said I stopped by Hogwarts yesterday, but you weren’t there. Where were you?”

Hermione’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “Why didn’t you send an owl?” she deflected.

“It was a last-minute decision. I was at Diagon Alley visiting George, and it made me think of Hogwarts. I thought it would be a nice surprise,” he answered.

“How is it in Diagon Alley? I would think that most of it is trashed,” Harry interjected.

“Yeah, but the businesses are starting to rebuild. Hey, the Leaky Cauldron is open, so it’s not all bad,” Ron joked.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Hermione said as she rose. “These drinks go right through me,” she said as she raised her glass. Of course, it was still half full, but she doubted Ron would notice. “I’ll be right back.” Instead of walking toward the loo, however, Hermione stepped out into the frigid air. She just needed a moment to herself. It was rather warm in the Burrow. Hermione smiled as she realized she had become used to the Scottish weather.

Hearing the door open behind her, she turned with a smile, expecting to see Minerva. Instead, Ron joined her. She tried to hide her disappointment by turning her head toward the dark sky.

“What are you doing out here, Hermione? It’s freezing!” Ron said.

“I just needed some air,” she replied. “But you are right. Let’s go in.” Hermione extended her hand to open the door, only to have it intercepted by Ron. She looked at him askance.

“Hermione, are you sure you didn’t come out here with the intention of having me follow you? I mean, you must have known I was watching you,” Ron said as he rubbed her hand and stepped into her space.

“No, Ron.” Hermione placed a hand on his chest to forestall his actions. “You have the wrong idea. I am so sorry if I did anything to make you believe otherwise, but my feelings have not changed for you. I only want to be your friend.”

“But, Hermione,” Ron pleaded, “we could be so good together. We’ve known each other for years, and I promise I’ll treat you as you deserve.”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ron. I am sure you’ll find someone else, someone who will welcome your affections. But me, I can’t.” She saw the disbelief in Ron’s eyes. She knew he did not want to accept her words, but he would have to. She had given her heart to Minerva.

She pulled her hand out of his grasp and began to open the door, only to have the door blocked. She looked up just as Ron pulled her close and kissed her fiercely. She tried to move her head, but his hands held it still. When he tried to invade her mouth with his tongue, she kept her lips firmly closed. With all her might she pushed at his chest, breaking the unwanted kiss. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and shouted, “Ronald Weasley, how dare you!”

A figure opening the door stopped Hermione’s impending tirade. Sharp green eyes read what had occurred, and they blazed as she turned toward Ron. “Tell me why I should not hex you now,” Minerva said in a low voice, her arm pulling Hermione back against her chest in a possessive stance that spoke volumes about their relationship. Hermione sank into the solid body and rested her arms around the strong forearm wrapped around her waist, standing silently.

Ron stood in shock, his eyes moving between Hermione and Minerva for several moments. “Blimey! You’ve got to be joking!” he exclaimed.

“I warn you, I am not,” Minerva said vehemently.

Putting up his hands in a surrender position, he backed toward the door. “I didn’t know. Really. I never would have…Hermione, tell her! I thought you just needed to know that I was still interested, that you needed some incentive to reveal your own feelings.”

“And the stolen kiss? Was that supposed to act as an _incentive_?” Minerva mocked.

Ron ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. “I’m sorry.” He looked at Hermione. “I really am.”

“Hermione?” Minerva said softly.

Rubbing the arm soothingly, Hermione nodded. “He’s a prat, but he’s also my friend.” She looked at Ron. “If you want to remain my friend, you won’t try something so stupid again.” She watched Ron nod repeatedly and nearly felt bad for him. After all, it wasn’t as if he had known that she was involved with someone else, much less with Minerva.

As if to counteract such thoughts, Minerva turned her so that they faced each other. “No one has the right to touch you without your consent. I will abide by your wishes this time, but in future, if he lays a hand on you without your permission, he will answer to me.”

Before Hermione could respond, Minerva swooped in to claim a kiss. Unlike with Ron, Hermione welcomed it, quickly becoming caught up in the passion. She lost herself in the meshing of their lips, the rubbing of that talented tongue against hers, the taste of Minerva. Being kissed in front of Ron to warn him off aroused her all the more, knowing that Minerva’s possessive streak had overcome any reticence that others know they were together. Although Minerva had mentioned that she did not mind others knowing and had even revealed their relationship to Filius, Hermione had remained skeptical.

Well, Minerva had just proved her spectacularly wrong.

After thoroughly tasting Hermione’s mouth, Minerva lifted her head slightly. Hermione blinked several times, feeling her body ache with need. A gentle hand rubbed her back slowly as winter-green eyes watched her closely.

“Merlin! That was one hell of a kiss, Minerva,” Hermione breathed.

“I’ll say,” Ron muttered.

Realizing that they still had an audience, Hermione cleared her throat nervously and turned her head toward him. “Um, right. So, no more inappropriate advances, then?” she asked.

“You have my word,” Ron sighed, his shoulders slumped. Hermione ignored his defeated stance, hoping he would bounce back quickly.

“Then let’s get back inside. It _is_ cold out here,” Hermione said with a smile. Not that she was cold in the least. That kiss had warmed her up quite sufficiently.

Ron entered the house without another word. Hermione looked back at Minerva and smirked at her behavior. Before she could tease Minerva, though, she found herself being kissed breathless again. When Minerva pulled back, the older witch‘s face held the smirk.

“Good God, are you trying to drive me absolutely crazy? All I want to do is tear off your clothes,” Hermione declared.

“In a few hours you may do whatever you wish to me, love,” Minerva replied, a twinkle in her eye.

“Remember that,” Hermione directed. “I will have you begging for my touch by the end of the night.”

“Dear, how would that make tonight different from any other night?” Minerva countered with a smile.

Hermione’s peal of laughter floated through the air. “How indeed. Shall we go in?” she asked. When Minerva nodded, Hermione opened the door and led the way back into the house. Looking around she saw all eyes on her. On them.

Only Ron, whose back was to the door, was still talking to Harry. “What kind of friend are you? Didn’t it occur to you that I should know that Hermione and Old McGonagall are together? I mean, bloody hell! How would I have ever guessed that?”

“Perhaps if you had eyes,” Harry muttered.

“Oh, right. Go ahead and joke. Thanks, mate,” Ron said crossly.

“Ron, she told me in confidence. It was up to her to tell you,” Harry sighed.

“Is it true?” Ginny asked, directing attention to their arrival.

Hermione felt Minerva intertwine their fingers together and smiled. “Yes, it’s true, and I am very happy,” Hermione answered as she looked around the room, gauging their reactions. Although shocked, none seemed to disapprove.

“As am I,” Minerva added, her brogue blanketing the air, her meaning clear.

“Well, I wish I had been a spider on the wall when this came about,” George proclaimed, hooting as a blush traveled up Hermione’s neck and across her face. “Ah, I see there must be a story here!” Everyone joined in with gentle ribbing and chuckles. The awkwardness passed, and soon everyone relaxed. Better, Minerva sat next to Hermione, often rubbing the nape of Hermione’s neck with sure fingers or clasping Hermione’s hand in hers as the evening progressed. Hours passed, and people indulged more. Ron, in particular, drank several more glasses of firewhiskey.

“Can I just say,” Ron began as he stood up, interrupting a conversation about the upcoming year’s slated changes at the Ministry. “That you all missed a hellava kiss! I’ve never seen one like that in my whole entire—in all my life!” he slurred, his voice getting higher with each word. “Those two,” he pointed at Hermione and Minerva, sloshing firewhiskey onto the floor, “were on _fire_. Like, I’m surprised the snow didn’t melt around them.” He raised his arms and waved them in an outward motion to emphasize his point, losing more alcohol from his glass in the process. “Those two have obviously kissed before!” Ron nodded emphatically and sat down with a thump.

Not able to resist, Hermione guffawed. Soon the room was filled with a cacophony of laughter. Hermione wiped tears from her eyes as she sought to settle down. Every time she looked at someone, though, more laughter erupted.

“I don’t know, Ron. I think you may be exaggerating,” George challenged, a smirk firmly in place. At Ron’s squawk of indignation, George looked over at Hermione and said, “I think we need a demonstration.”

Hermione shook her head. “Forget it. We have nothing to prove.” Feeling her hand squeezed, Hermione looked over into Minerva’s luminous eyes. She could see how relaxed and happy Minerva was. Smiling, Hermione leaned in and delivered a short, soft kiss to Minerva’s lips. Turning back toward George, she said, “There you go.”

At his objection, Minerva interrupted. “I think we can do better than that.” The hair on the back of Hermione’s neck stood up on end as the gravelly burr caressed her senses. She felt feather-light fingertips under her chin, guiding her face toward parted lips before releasing her face.

Time ceased. Hermione saw those revered lips closing the space between them, and she tilted her head automatically to welcome them. When their lips met, no other part of their bodies touched—both leaned toward the other from their seated positions, like tree branches seeking the light. Tenderly Minerva brushed her lips across Hermione’s once, twice, before returning to apply more pressure. Minerva captured her lower lip between hers and sucked teasingly, causing Hermione to emit a moan from the back of her throat as she surrendered completely to the moment.

All she could focus on were the lips moving against hers so provocatively, the tongue playing with hers gently, the breaths they shared, and the all-encompassing feeling of rightness. She reveled in the love she could feel through every tongue stroke, every brush of lips, every sigh, every subtle movement as their kiss wound down to a drawn-out, delicious releasing of moistened lips.

Hermione took a moment to collect herself before her eyelids fluttered open. She looked into hunter green eyes, so well-known to her now, as a thumb traced her cheekbone slowly before brushing underneath her trembling lower lip. They smiled at each other, and Hermione finally noticed that it was unusually quiet. She broke their gaze to look at everyone else. They all sat silently, expressions of shock, amazement, and envy apparent.

“You weren’t kidding, mate,” Harry finally said, clapping Ron on the shoulder.

“See! And that was even hotter!” Ron pronounced, swallowed the rest of his drink, and fell off his chair to hoots from the rest.

Hermione looked back at Minerva, a question in her eye. Minerva nodded and rose.

“We best be getting back to the Manor. Thank you for having us,” Minerva said, her hand landing on Hermione’s lower back once she stood. Good-byes and well wishes were exchanged, and soon they were out the door.

Hermione glanced over at Minerva and said in a soft, throaty voice, “I hope you aren’t too tired. Once we get back, I intend to worship every part of your addictive body.”

“That was my hope, too,” Minerva replied with a smile. Hermione merely delivered a Cheshire smile, looking forward to sharing more delicious kisses, this time without the audience.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: This is it! The last chapter for this little tale. I hope you enjoyed it. And, some news—mxrolkr from the LJ community posted a crossover prompt based on this story…the idea is to have Andrea from The Devil Wears Prada be Minerva's niece. To that end I have placed a wee bit of foundation within this chapter (blink and you'll miss it). So, yes, I wrote a sequel linking HP with DWP (Minerva/Hermione and Miranda/Andrea) and will be posting it as soon as I have a bit of time to clean it up. ('Cause really, why work on my novel where I actually get paid for writing?)**

Hermione turned the page of her new book as her glance flickered toward the body seated across from her in a comfortable deep-cushioned chair near the fireplace. She smiled softly as her eyes strayed over Minerva’s flowing hair, partially unbuttoned shirt, and loose, drawstring pants. She doubted anyone else got to see the formidable woman this way.

“Are you enjoying the book?” Minerva asked quietly, her eyes still on her own selection.

“Yes,” Hermione answered simply. Minerva had given it to her as a Christmas gift along with the other three for the series—first edition, autographed novels by Stephenie Meyer. Hermione had heard about the _Twilight_ series when interacting with those in the Muggle world. She found it so thoughtful—typical really—that Minerva would show deference to the other aspects of Hermione’s life through these gifts.

Hermione wondered how the writer had found out so much about vampires and werewolves. She knew that folktales were prevalent in the Muggle world about such beings, but so much of the truth was contained in these novels—that was what fascinated her the most about these books.

“My niece had suggested the series. Evidently it is quite the rage this year, dominating book sales,” Minerva said.

“Did she go to Hogwarts, too?” Hermione asked, her interest piqued.

“No,” Minerva frowned. “Andrea is the daughter of my brother, Robbie. She chose to attend an American college and presently lives in New York City.”

“Is she a squib?” Hermione asked in confusion.

“No, although I am sure that she does not use her magical abilities presently. Although she did not attend Hogwarts, I and my brothers have taught her how to harness and extend her abilities over the years.”

Hermione noticed how Minerva’s eyes looked troubled and wondered why Andrea had not followed family tradition. Before she could voice her questions, though, Minerva spoke again.

“She is only a few years older than you. Next time she comes for a visit, I will have to introduce you. I believe you will like her.”

Minerva’s tone of voice indicated that she did not wish to speak further of her niece, and Hermione respected her wishes by dropping the subject as she smiled her agreement. Placing a ribbon into the binding to mark her place, Hermione decided to broach a subject that had been worrying her.

She looked up to see Minerva gazing at her, a questioning look on her face. Hermione smiled ruefully. She could never hide anything from the older woman, nor did she wish to. She watched as Minerva placed her book on a side table and crossed to her. Soon she was held firmly, a comforting voice whispering next to her ear, “Tell me.”

“I have to register my animagus with the Ministry of Magic,” Hermione said. Elegant fingers ran through her hair soothingly.

“That is true,” Minerva agreed softly.

“Part of registering includes the requirement that I list any defining characteristics to distinguish me from any other phoenixes,” Hermione continued. She waited for Minerva to indicate her understanding, but she heard nothing. Sighing, Hermione realized she would have to explain exactly what was bothering her. “I do not wish to list my scars, Minerva. They appear underneath my left wing.”

She felt despair wash over her as arms tightened their hold and soft lips touched her neck. Moments later she felt wetness slide down her neck. Turning, Hermione clung to Minerva as their tears mingled. She tucked her face into Minerva’s neck, hiding from the cruelty of her fate. If she did not register, she could be banished to Azkaban. Yet, only Minerva knew about her shame—her Mudblood scars—and Hermione simply could not imagine everyone knowing.

Hermione nosed at the opening of Minerva’s shirt, kissing the chest as it shuddered with grief. Her lips grazed the unblemished skin, cataloging the curve of a breast she loved to taste. Stopping, Hermione rested as a sudden thought entered her mind. She lay still, wondering.

“Hermione?” Minerva questioned, her voice hoarse.

“Minerva,” Hermione said faintly, kissing the area reverently. _She no longer has the scars. They were healed through my tears—the phoenix tears._

“My tears,” Hermione murmured. Looking around, she spied a crystal goblet on the bar off to the side and extended her hand. The glass flew toward her. She kissed Minerva, the full weight of her despair pressing her forward before she reined in her grief and stood up. Handing the goblet to Minerva, Hermione changed into her animagus form. She thought of that day when Minerva nearly had died, her chest concaved and covered with blood. She thought about how close she had come to losing this indispensable person, her love, her best friend, her soul-mate, and tears streamed over her feathered face, falling into the crystal held by shaking hands.

After several minutes of such heart-breaking memories, Hermione tipped her head back and sang, her fears ebbing as her lament filled the air and hope filled her soul. Minerva was next to her, alive. Somehow she had earned her trust, her admiration, her love. Her song reflected her gratefulness, her overwhelming feelings of love and desire. She felt gentle hands resting on her chest and back, pulling her toward Minerva.

Looking up, she saw a radiant smile. Trilling in response, Hermione cocked her head and moved her left wing. Minerva moved back a bit, and Hermione extended the wing fully, revealing the abhorrent word. Minerva gently steadied the wing and poured half of the full goblet onto the hated scars. They watched as the ugly word faded and feathers began to fill in the area. Hermione touched the area with her beak, ruffling the new feathers and pushing them into place. Once she was satisfied, she looked at Minerva and transformed into her human form.

Standing in front of the sofa, they kept eye contact as Hermione pulled up her sleeve, running the fingers of her right hand gently over the sensitive area. Finally looking down, she saw smooth, soft skin, tinged pink but unblemished. A sob broke free as arms wrapped around her tightly. “You are extraordinary,” she heard as her eyes closed. They rocked in place, and Hermione knew that she would always feel extraordinary while this woman loved her.

***

Hermione placed the last final exam down and stretched, groaning as knotted back muscles made themselves known. Strong fingers began kneading her shoulders as Hermione’s eyelids slid closed. “You have such magical hands,” Hermione murmured in appreciation as she hung her head forward.

“Mmm, and I can give a good back rub, too,” Minerva joked.

Chuckling, Hermione moaned her agreement.

“All done?” Minerva asked lightly. At Hermione’s nod she felt Minerva’s hands slip away, and Hermione pouted.

“Good. Come with me,” Minerva directed, her hands grabbing Hermione, pulling her off the couch and toward their bedroom.

Hermione grinned. She had moved in just last week, but she had spent most of her free time in these rooms for the past several months. After their Christmas vacation break, they had found it unbearable to remain apart. With Minerva’s encouragement Hermione had begun sleeping in Minerva’s bed nearly every night, needing those strong, comforting arms to hold her as she slept.

_Our bed, now._

In a few weeks they would return to the Manor for the summer break, and Hermione was looking forward to some uninterrupted time spent with her true love. They often spoke of the future—trips they planned to take, conferences they planned to attend, collaborations with others at the top of their field. Every plan was made with the supposition that they would be together. Although their relationship was still fairly new, their love was pure and strong. Hermione could not imagine a life without the other woman.

Gentle hands removed her robes and undergarments. She loved these particular robes—a gift from Minerva. They were dark red with intricate stitching. Words were embroidered into the fabric that could only be seen when invoked with the words “rising phoenix.” Revealed was Minerva’s promise: love, fidelity, and respect. Many times Hermione had summoned the words, astounded by the pledges made to her in Minerva’s native language. She found it hard to believe that somehow she had captured Minerva’s heart. On another part of the robe, the area that covered her heart, was the Gaelic sentence, “You are so precious to me.” She remembered the times Minerva had uttered such words and felt herself tremble with emotion.

“I am filled with as much wonder that you have given your heart to me,” Minerva murmured as she kissed Hermione between her shoulder blades.

Smiling at how well Minerva knew her, Hermione shook a finger teasingly as she turned around. “Are you using legilimency on me?” Minerva’s chuckle reverberated around the room.

Minerva began to remove her own robes, but Hermione stopped her so she could take over the task. She unclasped the Celtic knot brooch and pushed the green velvet robes off, placing them on their bed. Soon the rest of her clothes were removed, and they took a moment to sink into each other, hugging closely. Minerva pulled away and led her into the master bath where fragrant, steaming water awaited them. Hermione breathed in the welcome smell of vanilla and ginger with a smile.

Hermione watched as Minerva slipped into the water first, propping herself against the side and holding out her arms in obvious invitation. Smiling coyly, Hermione carefully joined her lover, turning and sitting in the warm water so that her back leaned against Minerva’s chest. She sighed with contentment, her head resting against a strong shoulder as her eyes fluttered closed.

Hands ran over her sides, curving in to cup her breasts. “Minerva,” Hermione moaned. She arched a bit, loving how Minerva grazed her neck with her teeth before sucking on the junction where neck and shoulder met. She raised an arm, cupping the back of Minerva’s neck to hold her lips in place. Hands massaged her breasts provocatively, causing her to cry out, her voice laden with lust. “God! You feel incredible!”

Hot breath tickled her ear. “Now who’s reading minds?”

Those astonishing hands made Hermione forget the teasing question as they pulled out her passion with every stroke, every caress, every touch. It wasn’t long before Hermione was at her lover's mercy, undulating sinuously as long fingers entered her with strong thrusts. Crying out in ecstasy, Hermione felt lethargy flowing over her as she slumped into Minerva’s receptive body mere moments later.

“You are so precious to me,” she heard as she was lifted out of the bath and carried into the bedroom. A softly muttered word removed the water from their bodies, and she was delivered gently onto their bed. Hermione turned into Minerva, kissing her human pillow while fighting to remain awake. She wanted to love this magnificent woman. She knew Minerva must be aroused after loving Hermione so well.

Soft words flowed over her. “Do not worry, Gràdh. You can love me tomorrow and all the morrows thereafter. But rest now. Let me hold you while you sleep.”

And Hermione did.

***

Light-hearted trilling filled the air as Hermione in her animagus form soared across the sky, elation filling her heart. She spun on the wind and sang with abandon, the local birds attracted by the joy emitted through every note, every movement. She reveled in the feel of the air currents pushing her higher toward wispy clouds. She turned her eyes to the landscape and watched as a silver tabby with black markings bounded across the moorland, the heather hiding her from view momentarily before the cat leapt up and then hit the ground rolling. _Minerva._

Hermione flew toward the frolicking animal, intent on joining in with the delightful play. She landed close to the animagus, and bright green eyes connected with her golden ones. The cat hopped over and sniffed delicately while Hermione remained still. Hermione received two licks on her face, just to the side of her beak, before the cat growled playfully and jumped away. Squawking in reply, Hermione spread her wings and flew above the now-bounding cat, up the gentle rise, and across the moorland. She dipped and weaved, zooming across the cat’s path until finally she was knocked down. Before she could recover, the silver tabby pounced on her chest with a yowl of triumph.

Hermione changed back into her human form and hugged the cat to her chest as she laughed. Furry paws landed on her face as whiskered kisses were delivered on her chin, making her laugh harder. Minerva changed into her human form, joining in the laughter as she peppered Hermione’s face with more kisses. They rolled in the heather, wrestling for a few minutes before settling down, content to lie within each other’s arms and the Scottish sun’s warm caress.

This was their fifth year together, and Hermione marveled at the pleasure and happiness Minerva brought to her life every day.

After snoozing contentedly under the summer sun, Hermione felt her soul-mate shift. Smiling lazily, she turned her head to fasten her gaze on bright green eyes.

“Hermione, I have something for you,” Minerva said tenderly as she sat up.

Shading her eyes with her hand, Hermione looked at her love for another moment before rising to a seated position. “This sounds serious,” she said, her eyes searching Minerva’s vibrant ones.

“Aye. I would be honored if you would consent to wearing this, a symbol of my love and commitment to you.” Minerva held between her thumb and forefinger a gold emblem ring engraved with her family crest and waited patiently as Hermione lifted it to inspect.

Tears sprang to her eyes as Hermione recognized what this meant. She slipped it on her left ring finger as she leaned forward to deliver a passionate kiss. When it broke, she pulled back just enough to whisper, “Yes. I will never take it off.”

Nor did she. In fact it became the distinguishing marker on her body when she was in animagus form, the crest imprinted on the bottom of her powerful left wing. The crest became synonymous for not just Minerva McGonagall, the most revered witch of her time, but also for the most brilliant witch ever known, Hermione Granger.

***

Hundreds of years later the local Muggles claimed that often was the time a large golden and red-feathered bird, a mystical phoenix some declared, was seen cavorting with a large silver cat with black markings—many believed it to be a Mngwa somehow transported over from Tanzania. Arguments had raged over the years as to what type of bird and cat had been seen, but the essential reports remained the same—these two animals romped over the moorland during the summer months, filling observers with joy. Many Muggles scoffed at the folklore that phoenixes and Mngwas even existed—after all, no one had ever captured them on film. And there were even so-called observers who claimed they had seen a phoenix cavorting with a griffin of all things. It was as if with each passing year, the stories became more convoluted, merging various magical animals together to create even greater, more fantastical tales.

Nevertheless, on bright summer days up in the Scottish Highlands some professed to still spot them dancing around, jumping and swooping as playful growls and happy trills drifted on the breeze, their bodies becoming hidden within the heather after hours of play. No one ever successfully got close enough to snap a picture of the scene—any proclaimed pictures capturing the unbelievable sight were blurry, the animals too far away to be labeled accurately.

All anyone knew was that the area was sacred, part of the powerful McGonagall-Granger line. And the wizards, aware of that impressive pairing, just smiled as the legends continued to grow about the pouncing cat and the rising phoenix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed the story, please consider taking a moment to leave a comment to let me know. Of course, kudos work great, too.


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